Manticore Venom and its Uses
by cherub94
Summary: When a bored geek has a weird dream and decides to publish it, no matter how cliche it may be. Reid and the team track a team of elite assassins with the help of a complicated woman (also an assassin). Rated M for violence and other grim themes; no lemons, mild Reid/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**_This is my first attempt at fanfic, so be kind, but please comment! Constructive criticism is very much appreciated. _**

**_DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters or anything you might recognise from the TV series.  
The plot is the product of my sleep-addled brain on a full moon - apologies if anyone finds cliche offensive; I have done my best to minimise it.  
_**

* * *

**Manticore Venom and its Uses**

"So, local police found the bodies of 2 men in Salt Lake City last night. Torture and dismemberment of the bodies, evidence of rape on one of them. There's a possible connection with 2 other bodies found at the same dump site 3 months ago" JJ explained grimly while flicking the remote at the screen, displaying the gruesome crime scene photos for the team to examine.

Hotch looked up from his tablet with a slight frown: "They're calling us in for a case they're not even sure is serial? What's the catch?"

JJ winced: "Yeah, while the 2 previous bodies didn't display the same MO, it's the victims' identities that have the SLC PD on edge; all of the victims are prominent members of the elite – Vick Jacobs was a very expensive lawyer, lots of charity donations, married the heiress of Waldorf Hotels, Mark Summers was on the city council and also owned most of the local real estate businesses. The 2 recent victims, Joe Muller and Andy Sacks, were successful bankers."

The team exchanged exasperated glances as Rossi sighed; it would seem the local PD wanted to bring in the 'big boys' to avoid taking the blame if such a high-profile case went wrong, much to the team's displeasure - politics only hindered proper investigation most of the time. This would be a stressful one, Reid knew, as he followed the team as they made their way to the jet.

_On the jet_

Morgan dropped the manila file onto the table. "Guys, there's something off about these cuts, don't you think?"  
Reid, Blake, JJ and Hotch gave him a questioning look, waiting for him to explain what he meant, while Rossi just grunted and examined the photos more closely.  
"These cuts, they look very... clean, don't you think? Almost clinical. It doesn't fit with the level of rage required for such torture."

Reid looked pensive as he muttered: "They circumvent the major arteries while cutting flesh and smaller blood vessels... Very painful, but not deadly. Additional lacerations to the joints, tendons severed, restricting movement while maximising pain. Anyone can learn anatomy by going online nowadays but it takes a lot of practice to specifically target these areas," he looked up sharply, "were there any hesitation marks on the first 2 victims?"  
JJ rifled through her files and after a pause shook her head no.

"So the unsub is experienced. Have you checked other parts of the country for similar MO?" Blake asked.  
"I'll get Garcia on it" said Morgan, pulling out his phone.

While Derek was explaining the search parameters to Garcia, Rossi spoke up: "I have a hunch this isn't going to be a normal case, if you can call what we do normal. It's going to be complicated."  
"Why? What is it?" Hotch asked, slightly alarmed – the older agent's hunches had a habit of being right, and in this case it boded ill.  
"You remember that case we had back in Long Island, with the contract killer Bosola?"  
The team nodded; that case had been particularly difficult and had cost Rossi an old friend.  
"I think we're dealing with pros here. Think about it – the efficient, clinical cutting, the status of the victims, the inconsistencies in MO... Also, I think this is a team." At the collective looks of speculation, he gestured to the ME's report. "See here: "slight differences in angle and orientation of cuts, suggesting right- _and_ left-handed handling of the blade."

Reid and Blake glanced at each other, "That makes sense, but what about the rape? It takes a lot of rage to do that plus the torture and only one of the victims was sexually assaulted. Would a team of professional killers do that?" Reid asked.  
"Right," added Blake, "and the first 2 victims were sexually assaulted too... Although the rest of the MO is inconsistent, doesn't that look like a pattern?" Rossi shrugged, and Hotch explained that it might be that one of the unsubs was simply fulfilling his sick fantasies with this job. That was what Bosola was doing, after all.  
Morgan frowned at this: "But we caught Bosola in the end. Granted the charges didn't stick but that Sean guy killed him, didn't he? So why are you saying this will be more complicated?"  
"Just a hunch," Rossi said gravely.  
"There's not much more we can do for now. Everyone get some sleep – we're going to need it tomorrow." Hotch said sternly, prompting the team to scramble for the most comfortable seats.

_At the dump site the next morning_

Rossi and Morgan picked their way through the garbage that littered the alley, breathing lightly through their mouths to minimise their exposure to the foul stench which permeated the air.  
"Damn," Morgan swore, gagging, "this place is like a rubbish tip. Why would anyone be here to find the bodies anyway?"

Rossi smirked but remained silent. Talking would only increase the amount of fetid air entering his mouth, and he could practically taste it already.

A cop was waiting for them at the end of the alley. He shook hands with the two agents, introducing himself as Detective Cooper, glad they could make it and sorry about the smell. They'd already sent the bodies to the ME for processing, and sent the results to the team while they were on the jet, so Morgan and Rossi were only there to get a feel for the place.

"Well, we know they didn't kill them here. This is purely a dump site," Rossi stated.  
Morgan scoffed, "Yeah, right, 'cause the unsubs would've died of suffocation in here. Not to mention there's no blood spatter or residue anywhere," he added, looking around him with thinly veiled disgust, eliciting a grin from the older agent. "C'mon Rossi, there's nothing useful here. Thanks detective, we'll be going now. I don't think you need to bag too much stuff – they were too careful; didn't leave much."

The detective nodded gratefully and turned to recall his men. In doing so, he noticed a small, shiny coin-like object which would have been under the bodies, but must have been overlooked in the chaos following their discovery. He bent and handed it to the FBI agents in a plastic bag. "Maybe you wanna look at that before you escape."  
Rossi took the small package and thanked him, before leaving as hastily as he could without seeming rude, rejoining Morgan, who had foregone politeness for of the comfort of fresh air.

_At the police station_

The team was gathered around the small table they had been provided with, reviewing Garcia's findings and observing the odd medallion Detective Cooper had found. Garcia was on speaker.

"Baby girl, tell me you found some connection to other cases. So far we got nothing except a weird medallion." Morgan addressed the bubbly technical analyst in his usual playful manner, to which she responded with an equal amount of sass while the rest of the team listened in amusement, except for Blake, who looked a bit surprised at the friendly flirting the two engaged in.  
"As a matter of fact, my chocolate Adonis –"here Reid rolled his eyes good-naturedly and Rossi smirked, "my super information highway has uncovered 3 similar cases in the past 5 years. 2 in L.A 5 years ago, and 1 in Chicago 3 years ago. Like you said, all were prominent businessmen of some sort, all tortured cleanly, if you can say that, and most of them were raped. Also, I dug a little deeper, and it turns out that all of your victims were local but they were all staying in hotels at the time of their murders. Soo since that screams SUSPICIOUS, I'm currently looking through their dirty laundry, but it's gonna take a while my sweets, 'cause they have loads of it."

"Thanks Garcia," Hotch said, "can you also cross-reference guests at those hotels at the times of all the murders? See if there's any overlap. These guys may be pros, but they're either not good enough or careless enough to do their work quietly and vanish. We'll find them. Hopefully before they devolve and start killing randomly."  
Blake perked up at this idea: "Maybe this won't be as complicated as it seemed at first. They seem to be making mistakes," she said hopefully.

Reid shook his head, "We still have the problem that these aren't enough murders to build up the kind of experience they're displaying. Even 5 years ago they showed no hesitation, and they have one hell of a cooling-off period - 3 months is still a long time, even though it's shorter than a few years."

Rossi and Hotch nodded, looking grim. They knew from experience that dealing with assassins was never simple. And then there was that medallion; what did it represent? Why did they leave it?

Hotch picked it up. It was silver, and fit snugly in his palm, with a black engraving of what could only be described as a scrawny lion with a scorpion tail and a deformed face. "What does this represent?" he frowned. Reid leaned over to get a better look, as he had not yet seen it properly. Suddenly he exclaimed: "It's a manticore!" Everyone turned to stare at him uncomprehendingly, except for Blake, who recognised the creature.  
"It's a what?" asked Morgan

"A manticore. A mythological creature first described in ancient Persian myths. It was said to have the body of a lion with red fur, a human face with 3 rows of teeth and either a scorpion or a dragon's tail. It's also sometimes depicted with bat wings, and it feasts on human flesh. Its poison is contained in darts it shoots from its tail and has many purposes, among which killing, cursing, immobilising –"

"Okay, okay kid, we get it," Morgan interrupted the young genius' excited babbling before he could begin a lengthy and likely incomprehensible explanation of every subject pertaining to the manticore, while the others tried unsuccessfully to hide their smiles. Reid fell silent sheepishly, schooling his features to hide the hurt expression which threatened to emerge, and turned his attention back to the conversation.

Suddenly Garcia called the main phone and proceeded to excitedly inform them that there were indeed 2 gentlemen staying at each hotel at the same time as every victim, and that they were currently still in Salt Lake City, at the Place Royale Hotel, room 308. The team burst into action, organising themselves for the arrest, and stormed the hotel with the local PD and SWAT as backup – you could never be too prepared when going up against assassins.

Reception informed them that the occupants of the room had not left the building, and the hotel staff jumped back to let the high-strung law enforcement officers past. JJ, Blake and Morgan ran up the stairs while Reid, Rossi and Hotch took the lift. However, when Morgan kicked the door off its hinges and rushed into the room, Hotch right behind him, they found 3 men brandishing guns, and a shouting match ensued, with each side aiming at the other while loudly demanding to know what the hell were they doing and who the fuck were they anyway.

When the din had died down somewhat, Hotch addressed the one who appeared to be the leader of the group cautiously: "My name is SSA Aaron Hotchner, I'm with the Behavioural Analysis Unit at the FBI. I'm going to take out my badge – don't shoot!" he added hastily, seeing disbelief and aggression warring for dominance in the smaller man's gaze. He slowly reached into his pocket, eyes never leaving those of his thickset opponent, and drew out his credentials, displaying them clearly. After a tense pause, in which his finger seemed to curl around the trigger more tightly, the other man visibly relaxed and lowered his gun, prompting the BAU to do the same. He turned to his companions and nodded sharply, ordering them to back off.

"I'm Terry Fielding," he spoke in a low, steady voice,"CIA."  
While several police officers muttered in surprise, and the team's eyebrows rose, Hotch's expression remained stony, "Can I see some ID?" he asked, then scrutinised the badge Fielding had extricated from his back pocket and nodded, holstering his gun. Reid couldn't help but admire the man's composure; he often wished he wasn't such a blinker.

Fielding proposed that they return to the police station to explain his presence on the tracks of the two elusive killers.

_At the police station, again._

"So, would you care to explain why we found 3 CIA agents instead of 2 moderately skilled assassins in that hotel room?" Rossi asked in a silky voice. Inter-agency rivality was still going strong, and while everyone was civil, there was no mistaking the slight tension between the Bureau agents and the CIA operatives.  
Fielding sighed and crossed his arms. "Those two aren't just moderately skilled, agent. They are among the best assassins on the planet. The only reason you were able to pick up their trail at all was because they didn't care whether they were discovered or not. You should be glad they were long gone by the time you arrived – you and your team would have been reduced to fish bait within a few minutes."

Morgan scoffed at this and fixed him with a challenging stare. Reid, Blake and JJ glanced at each other uncomfortably while Hotch remained as impassive as ever. Only a slight crease in his forehead indicated any displeasure with the CIA man's comment.  
His teammates smirked at each other but remained silent after receiving a meaningful glance from their leader. Rossi regarded him pensively.

"If they're so good, why did the CIA only send 3 operatives after them? And you're not even combat- trained. Seems to me like your boss doesn't care much for your life, Fielding."  
Fielding smirked at this; he was starting to like this guy.  
"We were there to gather intelligence on them, not apprehend them. When they're at that level we have to send other assassins after them – even our finest soldiers don't last 2 minutes. The fuckers are monsters." JJ cut in:  
"Why are you interested in those two then? Did you employ them?"  
"Very insightful, aren't you? Yes, the agency employed them for a month before they went rogue. We were gathering intelligence to try and track them, so that they could be terminated."  
"Meaning you would give their location to another assassin," Blake said drily, "why don't you just ask the assassin you're sending after them to do it?"

Fielding glanced at his team uneasily. "It's above my pay grade. I'm not sure I'm even allowed to be telling you this, but I had no specific orders not to, so I guess it can't hurt, and you need the info... My guess? It costs too much to have the assassins do all the work. They're cunning, sneaky scum, the lot of them, charging extra for a little more work. But I have to admit, the good ones anyway, they really are almost worth the money. Get the job done properly, y'know? But we don't use them too often 'cause it's dangerous. They twist orders if they don't like them, and then there's the security risk..."  
Hotch nodded curtly. "Well, we had better get back to Quantico and report to our Section Chief for further orders. Thank you for the information."

_BAU Headquarters, Quantico_

"Chief Strauss has talked to the CIA. She says we are to continue working the case and liaise with the CIA weekly, as a rogue team of psychopathic assassins poses a significant threat to national security. However, we need protection, so we will continue to work on other cases while she organises it." Hotch's announcement left the team surprised and defensive.

"What do you mean by protection?"  
"Isn't the CIA taking care of it?"  
"How long will it take to organise?"

Hotch lifted a hand to stop the tide of questions and sighed tiredly. "This decision is final, and I expect you to remain professional and efficient no matter what happens. Now, we're all tired, so let's go home and get some rest."

They filed out the doors, wondering how they got into this mess, and realising with dull resentment that Rossi was, as usual, right.

_One week later_

The team was gathered in the bullpen, waiting for Chief Strauss, and chatting absent-mindedly about their plans for the weekend. Reid was uncharacteristically late.  
"Maybe he got a date" Morgan offered as an explanation, which was met by a multitude of conspiratorial smiles.  
"It's more likely he stayed up late reading, don't you think?" Rossi smirked.  
Garcia swatted his arm and glared at Morgan, "Be nice to him, you know he doesn't like to be teased!" but she softened her reproach with a fond smile at her 'babies'.

They quieted down when they saw Strauss walking towards them with a tall woman by her side. Morgan immediately turned his attention to the new arrival, in playboy mode, as she was indeed very attractive. This provoked much giggling and mocking as he puffed himself up just so, and straightened his fashionably rumpled shirt, cocky grin in place. Chief Strauss cleared her throat to gain their attention as the woman studied the team coolly from her position slightly behind the Section Chief.

"Good evening everyone, this is Katrina. She will be working with you on the assassin case. I expect you to work to your usual standards and unprofessionalism will not be tolerated, are we understood?" she asked in her patented soft yet authoritative tone. They nodded, briefly wondering why she was reminding them of their duties.  
"Good. Where is Doctor Reid?"  
"He'll be here soon" JJ answered quickly, not wanted to get her friend into trouble though she had no idea where he was. Luckily, he hurried through the doors at that moment, to her relief.

"Dr. Reid, how good of you to join us" Strauss reprimanded him.  
"Sorry, I –er - had a late night and slept through my alarm clock... Uh, what did I miss?" he replied sheepishly, only then noticing Katrina, who had yet to say anything. His eyes widened slightly and he fought a blush. Damn his reactions to beautiful women! They only made him more awkward. He hung back in an effort to control his expressions before she noticed.

"This is Katrina. As I was telling the team, she will be working with you on the assassin case. I have other things to attend to now, but I've already explained the situation to Agent Hotchner. He'll fill you in." And with that, Strauss returned to her office.

Hotch turned to the team: "As I'm sure you've gathered, Katrina will ensure our protection if the unsubs attack us." He turned to her, extending his hand, "SSA Aaron Hotchner. You can call me Hotch." She grasped his hand in a firm grip; the two remained like that for a few heartbeats, sizing each other up. Hotch was grudgingly impressed; few people were able to withstand his unblinking gaze for long, yet this woman appeared unperturbed, even slightly bored with his attempt at intimidation.

Rossi stepped up next: "Nice to meet you; David Rossi, SSA." She gave him a polite half-smile and responded with a "Nice to meet you, Agent Rossi." She had a cultured British accent, clipped enough to make her seem sophisticated, yet light enough to avoid appearing snobbish. Associated with a low, rich voice, she was quite pleasant to listen to.  
She exchanged niceties with the team until only Morgan and Reid were left.

Morgan gawked at her; forget 'very attractive', this woman was absolutely gorgeous! But he couldn't reconcile this with his growing realisation that she was an assassin. He was therefore rather rude in addressing her: "So, you're an assassin?" he asked gruffly. Her left eyebrow arched slightly in response to his hostile tone.  
"Obviously."  
"Huh. You don't look like it." He turned away from her before she could respond and made a beeline for Hotch, an angry expression on his face. She remained unperturbed and watched him go before turning to Reid.

"Hi. I'm Katrina." She extended her hand, studying the nervous genius discreetly.  
"Uh, yeah – hi! I-I'm Dr. Spencer Reid" he trailed off, cursing himself for stuttering.  
She looked at him curiously, hand still extended.  
"Not going to shake my hand?" she sounded mildly amused rather than offended, which reassured Reid as he realised his blunder.  
"Oh, um- no, I mean – yes! Ack, sorry! I don't usually shake hands! It's not you –" He gave up, shaking his head, and grasped her hand.  
"Nice to meet you" ah, there was that half-smile. He must have done something right after all.

Katrina had indeed found herself rather intrigued by the young profiler, much to her surprise, and stayed close to him rather than distancing herself as she usually would have done, especially around Agent Morgan.  
"So, what's a doctor doing with a team of profilers?"  
"Oh I'm not that kind of doctor. I have a PhD in psychology." Thank goodness this was a safe subject; it didn't make him stutter.  
"Really? How old are you?" she enquired, but to his surprise, her tone was not disbelieving or awed like most people's when he told them, it was simply mildly curious. He felt inordinately pleased at this revelation.  
"I'm 30 years old. But I also hold a Master's in maths and a Bachelor's in theology.

She gave him her full attention then, holding his gaze with dark green, heavy-lidded eyes.  
"So you're a genius?"  
"Yes. I have an IQ of 187." He responded awkwardly, hoping he hadn't said too much. Her reactions were different from what he'd come to expect, so he was unsure how to act. She seemed pleased and satisfied rather than shocked, but he couldn't fathom why that would be.

"Hm," she grinned, "that's good. I have an IQ of 189."  
"Really? I mean – I didn't mean to offend you, it's just – I'm a bit –"  
"Surprised?" her eyebrow arched again, accompanied by a smirk. "You're not the first."

He was about to respond when Hotch called her over; she left, glancing back at him over her shoulder.  
_Wow._ Was all he could think at first. He'd never met anyone whose IQ was higher than his; he couldn't wait to have a proper conversation with her. It didn't hurt that she was sinfully beautiful either, the little voice in his brain helpfully supplied. He told it to shut up.

Morgan and JJ interrupted his ridiculous mental argument, Morgan muttering angrily under his breath.  
"What's wrong?" Reid asked him.  
"What do you mean, 'what's wrong'?! We have to work with an _assassin_! Don't you get it? She's evil – a cold-blooded killer! I reckon she's even worse than the scum we catch, 'cause she isn't driven to kill by need, but does it purely for money!" JJ tried to shush him, as he was getting quite loud, and she didn't want to know if Katrina had a temper.

If she was good enough to defend them all against 2 highly skilled assassins, she must be truly, extremely dangerous, but evidently Morgan had not thought beyond her moral ambiguity. Reid frowned at him as Blake, Garcia and Rossi came over to see what the fuss was about.

"You know, she hasn't done anything to us. She was actually quite polite. I don't think you should lash out like this Morgan, you'll just offend her and make it hard to work with her." He attempted to reason with the taller agent, but earned a glare instead. Rossi gave Morgan a stern look that clearly said _keep your trap shut._ Finally, Hotch and Katrina approached them, both totally impassive, but his posture was stiffer than her deceptively relaxed stance. Looking at them together, Reid had an irrational urge to snort and point out their twin expressions – it was like looking at a more attractive, younger, female version of Hotch; two sides of the proverbial coin. He wisely restrained himself, deciding now was neither the time nor the place for such comments.

"Katrina has agreed to help identify the team we're looking for. I expect you all –"and here he shot Morgan a pointed look – "to cooperate fully and act in a mature way. We will meet again tomorrow morning to get started."  
"Hey, guys? You want to grab a bite to eat somewhere? There's this really good Japanese restaurant that's open 24 hours" Reid asked the team. JJ shook her head apologetically, "Sorry Reid, I promised Will and Henry I'd be back early tonight. Rain check?"

Garcia declined because she had a date with Kevin, and Blake also had a date. Morgan stormed out before Reid could finish, which left Rossi and Hotch, who always declined. He resigned himself to another evening alone, and with a pang realised that he missed Emily more than ever now – she was the only one he could always count on to listen and share some of his interests, and now she was in London. He perked up at the idea that he might call her later.

As he was packing his things in his worn satchel, he jumped when he heard Katrina's smooth voice.  
"I rather enjoy Japanese food."  
He whirled around, embarrassed at having forgotten she was there. She was leaning against the door frame nonchalantly, watching him expectantly. He smiled shyly.  
"Oh! Do you want to go there now then?"  
"Yes. If you don't mind..?" she added, as an afterthought.  
"No, no, of course not! Let's go then, shall we?" He smiled brightly at her, pleased to have company for once, especially since he expected she would be a brilliant conversationalist, and excited to meet his mental match.

Little did he know she was thinking along the same lines. Even among the other elite assassins there were few who could match her fierce intellect. Oh, their intelligence was above-average, to be sure, otherwise you didn't survive in this world, but nobody understood how she thought, and the only person she knew could match her was dead. She had therefore grown quite bored of late. She suspected her inexplicable approval of Dr. Reid had to do with the intellectual challenge he presented. As they made their way to the restaurant together, she thought "_well this could be more fun than I thought."_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Hello everyone :) This chapter might be a bit slower than the previous one. If it's too boring, let me know, and I'll make the next chapters more 'active.'**  
**Many thanks to those who are following this story and have added it to their favourites!  
Please review**  
_

_At Reid's house_

Spencer Reid pulled his pyjamas on and absent-mindedly picked up one of the many books surrounding his bed without looking at the title. He stared blankly at the words for a few minutes before realising he was too distracted to read tonight – an extremely rare situation for him – and replaced the book by his bedside before lying back. A slow grin spread across his face as he remembered his conversations with Katrina that evening.

She had fulfilled his expectations of her being a brilliant conversationalist spectacularly, providing well-reasoned arguments on a variety of subjects he could hardly remember now, despite his eidetic memory, and listening to him attentively when he spoke. He was particularly grateful that she hadn't interrupted him once, even when he started babbling and spouting statistics at first, as he always did when he was nervous.

Instead, she adopted the same mildly amused expression she had graced him with during their meeting, and waited for him to calm down. People usually stopped him or left the conversation when that happened, even when they were friends. He remembered Agent Seaver abruptly ending their conversation about Halloween with

"I'm sorry."  
"What for?"  
"Asking."

He knew his habit of rapidly listing statistics was irritating and he really did try very hard to stop, but sometimes he just couldn't help himself, it was like a defence mechanism. It hurt him more than he let on that even his team members stopped him rudely without considering that maybe he was only doing it because he was uncomfortable. For being the best profilers in the country they could be really thick sometimes, he mused. Emily had been more tactful, which was a large part of the reason he liked her so much.  
Katrina, on the other hand, remained a mystery. What few people realised was that he was deceptively proficient at reading people and decoding behavioural and social cues. It was just that he wasn't good at acting on them.

Once he had gotten over his intimidation, he had therefore employed all his profiling skills to try and read her, to get a sense of her personality. So far all he had gleaned was that she seemed patient, extremely intelligent, and did everything with an air of detached nonchalance. He snorted derisively. Yeah, great, so basically he knew everything anyone with half a brain could deduce from her being an assassin and telling him her IQ. And let's not forget why she was so intimidating, that, at least, was easy to analyse. She was tall for a woman, almost as tall as he, with a voluptuous body and a refined air, as well as a rather imperious expression. All in all, she was the sort of woman men would turn around to gape at in the street, but few would have the guts to actually approach. Which was probably just as well for them, he thought amusedly, imagining the scene. However, this did make it more difficult for him when he tried to figure her out.

It wasn't only that her facial expressions had strayed only occasionally from her polite but impassive mask, usually to express amusement, but her body language was just as controlled, depriving him of the cues he relied on to decode behaviour. Also, while her general knowledge rivalled his own and she could construct an argument accordingly, she had masterfully steered the conversation away from any aspects of her personal life, focusing on asking him questions when he became too curious. In short, she now knew a lot about him, but he knew very little about her. _And are you really surprised? _There was that little voice again; Reid wondered briefly if this meant he really had inherited his mother's schizophrenia. _She's a master manipulator, and obviously she wouldn't want anyone prying into her personal life. Still, I don't understand her at all. _

Her behaviour had indeed confused him, since it was not what he had resigned himself to expect from a beautiful woman he had just met. Usually they ran screaming the other way. Well, not literally, but almost. Instead of being repulsed by the fact that she was an assassin, like Morgan, he had almost forgotten that part, focusing instead on the delightful challenge she presented. So little apart from the motivations of serial killers challenged him these days – or rather, these years – and he revelled in the anticipation he felt when he thought about trying to unravel at least some of her mysteries. He smiled again, feeling revitalised for the first time in many months, and tried to go to sleep.

_Katrina's hotel room_

Katrina glanced around her suite quickly, automatically scanning every detail for signs of a break-in, and reassuring herself that all her emergency exits were clear. She was probably safe for now, but paranoia had become second-nature over the years, and it had saved her life more than once. As they say, better safe than sorry. As she made her way towards the bed, she thought of the evening she had just spent with Dr. Reid. The restaurant was adequate, which was a pleasant surprise -usually it was difficult to find decent Japanese food outside of Japan.

_And speaking of Dr. Reid... _The young genius had been an entertaining companion after getting over his nerves. He wasn't the first man to be intimidated by her, but that usually happened when she was purposefully being menacing. His reaction was therefore a bit odd, and perhaps she would even go so far as to call it sweet or cute if she were inclined to soppy adjectives. _Sweet? What's wrong with me? I've really been out of the game too long, I'm going soft._ It was true, though, that she had had more fun than usual, and watching him trying to probe her for information was amusing in itself. Although she easily saw through his attempts and thwarted them, he was impressively subtle about it, a fact which confirmed her impression that Dr. Spencer Reid was much more than an awkward, bookish geek. She allowed herself an evil smirk. Just from a cursory first observation it was obvious his teammates were not observant enough, or too self-absorbed, to recognise the complexity of the genius' character. Especially that Agent Morgan. She had disliked him from the moment he had puffed up upon seeing her. She rolled her eyes as a flood of bad memories assailed her. _Been there, done that_, she thought bitterly. All alpha males of that type were the same, and not worth her time unless she was being paid for it. But he was going to create problems for her, she could tell. She sighed. At least he would be easy to manipulate if she found herself in need of doing so.

Also, if things went wrong, perhaps she could use Reid as leverage in some way, given her insight into his unequal relationship with the team. Katrina frowned, feeling a sudden pang of discomfort at this notion. _Interesting. Maybe I've developed a genuine liking for the good Doctor. I'll leave leverage as a last resort then._ Shrugging, she dropped the matter and tried to get some sleep, but knowing it would probably elude her.

_BAU bullpen, Quantico_

"Morning," Morgan greeted Blake and JJ,who had arrived early. They smiled and asked about his evening, to which he responded dismissively, shrugging. He hadn't done anything interesting, after all. Reid arrived next, slinging his satchel over his shoulder before hanging it on the back of his chair and sitting down.

"Hi guys"

He was greeted with a chorus of "Hey Reid" and "Hey Pretty Boy" from Morgan.

"So did you have a good evening?" JJ asked with a smile, thinking he hadn't gone to the restaurant and feeling bad for letting him down.  
"Yeah, it was fun," Reid replied with a small but genuine smile. He was reluctant to tell them he was with Katrina, knowing Morgan would overreact.  
"What did you do? Meet any girls?" Garcia teased with a wink and a fond elbow jab to his ribs. Reid rolled is eyes and smirked at her:  
"Actually, Katrina and I went to that Japanese place I was telling you about. it was pretty good," he waited for the information to sink in, wondering why he had recklessly set himself up for a 'talk.'  
"What?! You went with her? Why didn't you go out with one of us?" Predictably, Morgan was the first to react, and his reproach annoyed Spencer, prompting him to adopt a stubborn expression and a cold voice.  
"I did invite you, but you stormed off before I could say anything and everyone else had plans, so don't start that crap on me. And I'll have you know that I had fun with Katrina!"  
"What, did she seduce you? Is that how she convinced you to defend her? I bet this is her way of trying to worm her way into the team dynamics," Morgan raged. Reid opened his mouth to defend himself against his childish accusations, but was cut off by a silky voice:

"Why yes, of course. How observant of you Agent Morgan; you have found me out. There is indeed nothing I want more than to insinuate myself between Dr. Reid and the rest of your team for the short amount of time in which I will be assisting you. It will be very useful to me in the future, I'm sure."  
The team spun around to face her, Morgan wearing a disbelieving and aggressive expression. Katrina arched her left eyebrow in disdain, and fixed him with a frosty but dismissive gaze. She continued in her silky drawl, which Reid was sure she had perfected expressly for the purpose of demolishing an opponent's self-confidence with irony. It worked perfectly, and he barely suppressed an admiring grin.

"Now then, if you are quite finished making ridiculous accusations without even thinking them through, perhaps we could rejoin the domain of mature conversations and focus on the task at hand?" Having successfully ridiculed Morgan, she turned towards Hotch and Rossi, who had arrived just in time to witness her tongue-lashing, and led the way to the meeting room. She glanced over her shoulder at Reid, much to his surprise, and gave him a small conspiratorial smirk, which he returned with a wide smile. Morgan followed with a thunderous expression.

_Meeting room_

Katrina waited for Hotch to explain what she was supposed to do to help. She hoped he knew to give her precise orders, at it was obviously the first time these people had ever seen an assassin, let alone worked with one. It was always a pain to receive unclear orders, then be chastised when she didn't execute them to the employer's liking. Luckily she could be picky about who hired her now, but that wasn't always the case, and she remembered how troublesome it had been. She stared at the oldest agents expectantly. Hotch seemed slightly perplexed, but Rossi smiled at her and spoke first.

"So, we've got a team of 2 assassins killing every few years or months - it doesn't seem to fit any pattern - and tortures and rapes the victims, who are prominent men of the elite. Do you know anyone who fits this profile?"  
Katrina narrowed her eyes as she thought... She wasn't aware of any team that would be ordered to do this on a regular basis, but more than one fit the bill. Teams were more common than people realised - she had been head of one herself until 5 years ago. They would need to give her more parameters. To buy herself some time to think, she addressed Rossi, since he seemed to know what he was doing:  
"So, you've got a rogue team, correct?" When he nodded, she continued,  
"You seem very sure they're assassins. How do you know?"  
"The CIA told us they had employed them when they went rogue."  
Well that changed things. She cursed inwardly. The CIA were incompetent fools, always employing the top assassins without knowing how to control them. These two were probably very, very good. _At least that narrows the list... Most of the top ones were sent after me._ Her eyes snapped up:  
"Do you have anything else?"  
"They left this at the last dump site," Hotch said, pushing the medallion towards her. She took the plastic bag, frowning as a sense of foreboding left the hairs on her neck raised and her nerves tingling._Uh oh... Why does this thing look so familiar...?_

She turned it over and examined the engraving. After a few seconds she pursed her lips and laid it back on the table. 7 pairs of expectant eyes watched her in tense silence.  
"I know these two. Their codenames are Hansel and Gretel. I only have one question: how on earth did you even pick up their trail, and where did you get this? Actually I suppose that makes it 2 questions, but back to the point," she said, gesturing to the discarded medallion.  
Reid straightened up.  
"It was underneath the bodies. We only found it later, after processing the bodies. Why?"  
Katrina's eyes widened a fraction, before she pulled her face back into her usual neutral mask. _Shit shit shit fuck!_ She cursed under her breath.  
"They left it for me. They know I'm here - it's a challenge of sorts, a way of saying it's my move. You should all be on your guard; they're not above using you as bait to get to me." She narrowed her eyes and shot the medallion a chilling glare. Rossi felt relieved that she had not risen to Morgan's childish taunting - he probably wouldn't have survived unscathed. _Hell, that glare terrified _me_, and it wasn't even in my direction..._

Hotch's expression was thunderous. "How are you so sure, and why would they be after you in the first place?"  
Katrina held his gaze with an irritated expression, "You've never worked with any good assassins, have you Agent? Of course not, why would you have? In this profession -" Morgan's loud snort went ignored, thankfully, "in this profession, there are a certain number of unspoken rules and codes. I trained with these psychos for 12 years, I know them. This is a challenge to me. It's a game of cat and mouse. Also, I doubt the CIA was their real employer. They don't have the guts to challenge me without some sort of reliable outside protection. This is much bigger than a few murders, it's all about getting to me. That's why you have to be extra careful - you're just collateral to them. As for their employer, I can hazard a guess as to who they are, but I don't know for sure."

Blake looked sceptical, "You don't know who wants to kill you?"  
Katrina regarded her coolly for a moment until the implications of her statement sunk in. Only then did she answer with a devious smirk, "I've made quite a few enemies while achieving this status, _Agent."_

Morgan scoffed: "Oh come on, spare us the bragging. You can't be that good if they know where you are. Two assassins against one is hardly a match! And what's this business with status?" Katrina stared at him incredulously for a moment, then threw her head back and laughed derisively, turning to face him with a predatory look in her eyes and a feral grin which bared her teeth. Reid noted that her canines seemed just a tiny bit sharper than the average, but that might just have been an illusion. The team cringed.

"Don't you know? Oh this is too good, Strauss didn't tell you! My _status,_ which you scorned so disdainfully, is number 1 assassin in the world. That is why they gave me the codename "Reaper." My success rate is 100%. In this game, _I _am the cat and _they_ are the mice, and they know it. Hence the challenge. And you're right, 2 against 1 isn't a match - I win every time in a fair fight. That is why you have to watch your backs, because they'll use you to gain an advantage. Now then, I would advise you to refrain from provoking me unless you want to end up in a hospital bed for 6 months."

This last statement was enunciated precisely and in a voice so cold it could have frozen liquid nitrogen, and was followed by a deafening silence. Reid thought that he should be horrified, but instead felt an intense fascination for the surprising woman. He felt drawn to her aura of danger, and mused that she had reminded him of a panther with that feral expression. He glanced at Morgan and stifled a guffaw. He looked like he was about to shit his pants, frozen in a seemingly neutral expression, but his eyes and posture betrayed abject terror. Katrina 2, Morgan 0. _Still, once Morgan's recovered, he'll have another go. He never learns... _

Hotch stood up, looking worried. "I will have to report this to Strauss. Go home for now - we will have reached a solution by tomorrow."  
When nobody moved, he glared at them until they shuffled out, feeling like chastised children.

Reid ran to catch up with Katrina, ignoring the curious looks from the rest of the team. "So, Reaper huh? Impressive."  
She slowed down and rolled her eyes, "It's cheesy, I know, but at least the message is clear. I really didn't choose the name though, none of us did."  
Reid waited for her to elaborate, but when it became obvious that no explanation was forthcoming, he spoke again:  
"What can we do to protect ourselves? I know Morgan's being stupid, but the rest of us would like to know. Especially me," he added under his breath, but evidently not quietly enough, since she heard. Katrina snorted softly:

"Short of training you in combat, there isn't much I can do except ask that you listen to what I say and not question it. There won't be time to discuss motivations and morality in a life or death situation. And I can assure you you will not enjoy my teaching methods at all. I am neither patient nor encouraging, so teaching you will be a last resort," she added, seeing his hopeful expression when she mentioned training them. Reid sighed, but reasoned that she would indeed be an unforgiving instructor, if only because she had probably been taught that way. When you factored in what little he knew about her personality, she did indeed seem like the demon instructor from the deepest circle of hell. _Yeah, let's keep it as a last resort._ He nodded, and she narrowed her eyes at him briefly before breaking into a slow, malicious smirk, having correctly guessed what he had been thinking. Katrina suddenly stopped, and told him she was turning here, so she bade him goodnight and walked into the gathering gloom with a wink.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Hey guys, it's taken me a bit longer to publish this chapter - work and all that ;)**  
_

_**So still not that much action yet, sorry! I've focused more on the relationship between Reid and Katrina. Again, if this is too boring, let me know!  
**_

_**Also, I'd like to know what you think of the story so far, and if you have any suggestions, so please review!  
**_

* * *

_Katrina's suite_

Katrina paced through the spacious living room of her room, mentally running through everything she knew about Hansel and Gretel. _Damn,_ she swore. She _would_ win in a fair fight, but she had left out that it would cost her. Hansel was a giant, a huge brute with so much muscle she thought it might have replaced his brain. He was slow but freakishly strong, and more importantly, he was a fucking cockroach! One time she had sparred with him she'd had to use all of her own considerable strength just to give him a bruise, and he only went down when she attacked his pressure points. Gretel, on the other hand... _Fucking crazy psycho bitch, that one..._ She was even more mentally unstable than most of them, but she was the brains of the team. She reminded Katrina of a weasel, 150 cm of sneaky, skinny, slimy cunning. She would have to be taken out first, she decided. Then she could deal with Hansel. Gretel wasn't very strong, never had been, but her tiny stature and stick-thin limbs, combined with that crazy intellect, made her a formidable adversary – fast and cruel. _Ah, but at least she's predictable... Funny how the craziest ones are always that way... Except for me of course._

An evil grin spread across her face. So, they wanted to play, did they? Then she would play, and teach them once again never to mess with someone as volatile and unpredictable as she. She knew her unpredictability was indeed legendary, and she used it to her best advantage. It was one of the reasons so few other assassins accepted jobs which involved hunting her down – nobody ever knew if and when she would strike, or how. Clearly these two had grown confident in her absence these past 5 years, and were expecting her to simply run and disappear like she had all those years ago. _Well, I'm done grieving now,_ she thought grimly, _Katrina the 'Reaper' is back with a vengeance, and it's time to let the bastards know._ Still, she was slightly worried about the safety of her charges, especially Reid. Perhaps she would attempt to train them after all...

Suddenly her work phone rang, the irritating tune freezing her into place as she wondered who the hell would call her about work now. She picked it up gingerly, and drew a small breath.

"Speak." Thank goodness her voice seldom strayed from its usual cold, dry bark; she barely had to think about it anymore, even when she was nervous.

"Um, Katrina? Uh, hi, sorry to bother you, I know it's late but I- well, that is- oh I knew this was a bad idea, sorry, nevermind-" Katrina stayed silent for a moment, unable to fathom why Reid would be calling on her work phone and when he clearly hadn't thought this through. It must be important. Perhaps something had happened?

"Dr. Reid. I must confess I am rather surprised. What is wrong?"

"Um, well..." God, she wished he would get over his nervousness already. It was starting to grate her nerves.

"You see," he drew an audible breath, and she rolled her eyes, waiting, "I used to be addicted to Dilaudid and then I stopped but since Emily left I've been craving it and I should tell someone but I don't want to tell the team 'cause I'll get fired and today is a bad day and i needed to tell someone and I'm sorry to bother you but I thought you would-"

"Stop! Let me see if I've understood you. You have a problem with dilaudid and you wish for my help in the matter. correct?"

"Yes."

"I see."

"Katrina? Are you alright?"

"... Why on earth are you calling _me?_" She let her confusion show; it was sometimes beneficial to show emotion, anyway.

"I don't- I don't want to tell the team..." His voice trailed off into a whisper. _Ah. The root of the problem... I can't blame him - I wouldn't want people like Morgan or that nosy Garcia to know if I had such a problem, either._

"And you would rather trust an assassin you've just met? I must say, that is a little ironic, don't you think?"

She was rewarded with a nervous laugh. Katrina frowned. He did indeed sound a bit hysterical.

"Let's see how it goes then. Do you want to come here or shall I come to your house?"

"So you'll help?"

"I wouldn't have offered otherwise."

"Thank you! Can I come to your place?" She chose to ignore her pleasure at his gratitude, and gave him the address.

When he arrived, looking around in awe at the luxurious room - it _was _the presidential suite, after all - she sat him down on the couch and handed him a cup of tea. She sat down opposite him and eyed him critically. He looked haunted, more so than when she'd first met him just a few days ago, with his long brown hair mussed and greasy-looking, and a rather unattractive 5-o'clock shadow on his face. She thought it made him look like a tree with half its leaves blown off. His usually bright amber eyes were dull and the skin under them looked bruised, a stark contrast with his sickly pallor. Reid wordlessly held her gaze during her scrutiny, surveying her as well. Katrina grudgingly conceded that he was surprisingly determined; she'd purposefully made her examination of his person look very assessing, which would have made anybody squirm, yet here he was staring right back at her without so much as a twitch. Perhaps he was so desperate to get help he couldn't bring himself to react.

"How are you feeling?"

His bitter laugh did not come as a surprise to her, although he obviously thought it should have done, since he seemed to deflate at her knowing glance. His team really was stupid if they'd missed how his struggle was affecting his mood and health.

"How do you think I feel? I'm not exactly a picture of health, am I?" Spencer immediately felt guilty for lashing out. He was feeling exceedingly irritable and this caused him to vent his frustrations onto the only person who was willing to listen. He opened his mouth to apologise but was cut off by a dismissive wave of her hand, as she reprimanded him in an exasperated voice:

"Do not apologise. I am not so easily offended. Focus on drinking the tea - eating or drinking tends to ease the craving."

She paused while he obediently drank.

"What is it exactly you want me to do for you?"

"I- I just-uh... I need someone to talk to. Since Emily left, I haven't really been able to do that with anyone." Spencer felt slightly ridiculous and felt his cheeks flame with embarrassment, but Katrina showed no signs of impatience, so he continued.

"I really like the team but if I tell them, they'll make me feel like a baby, and I'm sick of that. I could tell Emily 'cause she didn't do that. Everyone else just sees the young, clumsy genius and assumes I have to be protected, but I'm an adult, and that attitude just irritates me."

"I see. Well, if that's how you feel, perhaps you should tell them or prove them wrong." At his hopeful look, she gave him that half-smile he'd come to like so much, "Why is it you need to be protected in the field, do you think?"

"Ha! Have you seen me? I'm skinny and uncoordinated, and I'm a bad shot. Plus, I'm not an alpha male like Hotch - I can't help but show fear."

"So?"

"So what? The bureau effectively had to make an exception to allow me in the field at all. Of course I would need protecting..."

"Have you actually done anything to improve your physical abilities?"

"Well, no..."

"Then that is your own fault." She watched him closely, gauging his reaction. There! The spark of anger she had been waiting for. This should revitalise him somewhat.

"Of course not! Where would I have done that? Plus, I never have time, and I focus more on using my brain!"  
he grew more infuriated as she smirked.

"Sounds like excuses to me. Procrastinating then whining about it in self-pity isn't a good strategy, doctor. You should at least attempt to resolve the situation before giving up."

"WHAT? I- you-" Spencer spluttered, before her words sunk in, and he realised what she was doing, "Thank you Katrina," he smiled.

"Whatever for? I am merely expressing my opinion," her dry tone and her wink belied her words, and Reid felt intensely grateful for her ability to relax him.

"So what do you propose I do?"

"Simply start exercising, and practise your marksmanship. It's not rocket science, really. And when you feel confident, take the unsub down before anyone else, and force them to acknowledge reality."

He grinned, imagining the team's stunned faces; suddenly he looked up at her with an starry-eyed, hopeful, puppy-dog expression which made her tense in dread, but before she could interrupt, he asked:

"Can you teach me? To fight, and to shoot, I mean. You're probably the best person to ask, actually."

"... Fine. But don't whine as soon as it starts to get difficult. I warned you about my teaching methods, after all."

Spencer's face broke into a huge grin, and in his elation, he forgot his usual shyness and promptly gave Katrina a tight hug, which caused her to become so rigid she might have been made of ice. He pulled away awkwardly, slightly puzzled at her reaction.

"Uh, yeah, well, thanks a lot. Could I sleep on the couch tonight? It's too late for me to drive safely."

She nodded mutely and fetched him a blanket and a pillow.

"Good night, Dr. Reid."

"Good night Katrina. Oh, and you don't have to call me Doctor. Just Spencer is fine."

"Hm. Reid for now. Go to sleep."

Later that night, Katrina lay awake, trying in vain to remember the last time anyone had hugged her.


	4. Chapter 4

_Katrina's hotel room, the next morning._

Spencer opened his eyes groggily, feeling sluggish and stiff. He blinked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and jumped as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings. _Where..? Oh, that's right, this is Katrina's room. Wow, she must be really rich._ He gave himself a mental slap; this was not the time to be thinking about Katrina's financial situation! He groaned as he remembered the previous night.

He had tossed and turned in his bed, desperately fighting the craving for dilaudid, before realising he wouldn't be able to stay clean without help this time... But who could he turn to? Emily was too far away to be of help, and JJ was no longer an option after the humiliation he suffered at her hands – however unintentional and necessary – when they all thought Emily was dead. Last time he had confided in Morgan the traitor had run straight to Hotch, and he wasn't close enough to the rest of the team to trust them with this information. Then it had hit him: Katrina. She could keep a secret, to be sure, and while she could certainly use this as leverage in the future, he felt instinctively that she would be more helpful than anyone else. In the haze of withdrawal which had clouded his mind, he had somehow managed to obtain her number, and then arrive at the hotel unscathed.

He certainly felt better than he had in months this morning, which caused him to wonder what she had put in that tea. Last time he had won the battle against the drug he had felt like death warmed up the next day, yet today he only felt a bit fuzzy and sluggish, like after a particularly deep, satisfying sleep. Again, a wave of gratefulness towards Katrina washed over him, and his lack of concern about her being an assassin ceased to surprise him. No matter the condition of her morals, she made him feel relaxed, unrestricted. He had never felt free to be himself without being judged before meeting her and it was exhilarating. _Speaking of which, what was that reaction yesterday? That woman is utterly confusing; I didn't think a hug would make her so uncomfortable, even though it _was_ out of character for me._

"Oh good, you're awake."

Spencer yelped before twisting around to face a smirking Katrina. He hadn't heard her at all! _Of course you didn't, you twit! She's an assassin – stealth is part of the job description. Why is she looking at me like that?_

Katrina was watching the play of emotions on his face, highly amused by what was clearly an internal argument. She was leaning into one hip, her arms crossed over her chest, and her signature raised eyebrow completing her look of nonchalant expectation.

"Feeling better?"

"Ah, yes, much better. Thank you," she dismissed his thanks with a shrug, then dropped her gaze to his appearance. She pointed toward what Reid assumed was the bathroom.

"Good. Now go have a shower – you looked and smelled like one of the undead last night. And wash your hair," she added with a sardonic half-smile to soften her harsh words.

Reid blinked, then obediently trudged to the bathroom, finding a fluffy white bathrobe she had obviously set aside for him. Meanwhile, Katrina was rifling through one of her many suitcases in search of a change of clothes for her new protégé. She owned a lot of men's clothes, partly because she was paranoid and you never knew when you'd have to pose as a man, partly because they were comfortable and it was sometimes fun to dress up as a completely different person. _Ah! Here we go.  
_She pulled out a thick, pale blue shirt and a thin black silk tie, along with black suit trousers and a matching light vest. She had already picked up some underwear and socks. _Hmm, and now for the shoes..._ She felt a bit embarrassed at how much fun she was having, but she supposed this was what little girls playing dress-up felt like, and she was especially excited – much to her annoyance – because she'd never had the opportunity to dress someone else, and she was determined to make Reid look good.

His clothes weren't too bad most of the time, but he insisted on wearing those converse shoes even under a much more formal outfit, and it just looked ridiculous in her opinion. Plus, the shoes made him seem even younger and contributed to the fact that few people took him seriously. She made a small noise of satisfaction as she found a pair of dark brown 'office' shoes she particularly liked because they looked sophisticated yet understated, and they were deceptively comfortable. She cocked her head, judging the size... _Yep, that'll fit him._ While she wasn't quite as tall as the young genius, she was rather on the tall side for a woman, and would reach his height if she wore heels. When buying men's shoes she always bought them one or two sizes bigger than her own to look more realistic, so they should fit him.

Her sharp hearing alerted her to the bathroom door opening, so she grabbed the outfit she had picked out and hurried out to prevent him from wearing the same clothes as yesterday.  
"Here, wear these – those clothes are all wrinkled and need to be washed," she said, holding out the bundle she was carrying. He started in surprise.

"You own men's clothes?" he asked incredulously. She smirked at his reaction,

"Not only that, I own men's clothes _in your size._ Lucky, huh? Especially since you won't have to go to work now looking like a university student after a wild night out." She grinned.

He snorted softly and reached for the clothes, curious to try them on. She let him change while she returned to her room to clear up the mess she had made trying to find clothes for him. 'Mess' being a very subjective concept, to Katrina it meant the clothes in her suitcases were no longer perfectly folded. She was a bit of a neat freak and needed to feel totally in control of her environment. She rolled her eyes while she thought of this. _Jeez, a shrink would have a field day with me, especially since I've come out of 'retirement.' Hm, maybe I am going soft. _

Dr. Spencer Reid was speechless, which was an extraordinary occurrence. He stared at himself in the full-length mirror in the bathroom, gobsmacked by the change in his appearance. The clothes seemed to have been tailor-made for him, and hung perfectly off his normally awkward frame, neither too tight or too loose. He wondered again how on earth Katrina had managed to find such perfect clothes, and resolved to ask her as soon as possible. He blushed a bit, remembering his surprise when he saw the underwear and socks she had provided, but shook himself mentally and sternly told himself that he was an adult, and obviously it was common sense to provide a complete change of clothes like she did. When he emerged from the bathroom, Katrina was sitting on the couch, drinking a steaming mug of what smelled like coffee, and fully dressed. She had been wearing what he assumed were pyjamas before, consisting of loose tracksuit bottoms and a tight but not very revealing T-shirt. She looked up, blinked in what Spencer thought was the most genuine expression of surprise he was ever likely to see from her, and gave him a small smile.  
"You clean up well, Doctor. I knew those clothes would fit you."

"Thank you, you really didn't have to lend me these clothes – I could have just gone home to change –"

"You'd have been late again, and I suspect Agent Hotchner would not be too happy about that. Besides, those clothes suit you, and I have plenty of others, so I have little use for them. Keep them," she added with a dismissive wave. Spencer gave her a curious look.

"Why do you own men's clothes?"

"You never know when you might need to pose as the opposite sex. I usually pretend I'm a homosexual office worker, since my facial features aren't very masculine. It works quite well," she shrugged. She gave him a once-over. _My, my, he _does_ look good in those... Who knew awkward genius Spencer Reid could look like a model when he wears sophisticated clothes? _She stood up suddenly, and walked over to him.

"We have to do something about your hair though – it looks like a bird's nest," she said, reaching up to part his hair along a straight line, instead of the jagged mess it usually was. "There. Much better."

She drew back quickly, resolutely ignoring the fact that this was the first time in 5 years that she had ever willingly touched another person so closely. He gave her a searching look which reminded her of his intelligence and deceptively observant nature. Katrina immediately smoothed her face into her usual impassive mask, which had probably slipped at the reminder of – no, she refused to think about that. Instead, she gave him an equally inquisitive look.

"Katrina? Are you ok?"

"Why wouldn't I be? I get to see Agent Morgan's face when he sees you like this today. That's bound to be entertaining." She gave him an evil grin which he returned after a small pause.

"Yeah, everyone's going to want to know how I got these clothes. What do I tell them?"

Katrina gave him a steady, unreadable look which made him shift slightly under its weight, before answering: "It's up to you. They're your clothes now, and it's your life. Lie or tell the truth, it's all the same to me. Coffee?"

Spencer took the proffered mug wordlessly, still confused by her behaviour, but understanding she didn't want to talk about it.

_BAU bullpen, Quantico_

Most of the team had gathered and was chatting in the middle of the room, when Katrina and Reid walked in together. Morgan wasn't there yet, so their arrival was unhindered by snide remarks about assassins involving words like 'evil' and 'scum,' to Reid's relief. After Katrina's warning the other day, Morgan would have to watch himself, but it was unlikely he'd realised it yet. He really was too hot-headed for his own good; it dulled his otherwise sharp intellect. Amid a chorus of "Morning Reid" and "Hey Reid," Rossi loudly said: "Good morning Katrina," prompting the others to hurriedly do the same. She gave Reid a conspiratorial smirk; they were very skittish around her, and it was terribly entertaining. She turned to Rossi and gave him _the_ half-smile, which made Spencer a bit jealous, but he squashed the feeling immediately, knowing it was utterly ridiculous.  
"Thank you Agent Rossi, good morning to you too," she said, also nodding to the rest of the team.  
"Call me Rossi or Dave, Agent Rossi is such a mouthful," the older man smiled at her. Like Reid, he had very little concern about her morality, and knew that assassins were sometimes necessary. Perhaps this view was cemented by his previous affiliations with organised crime, but that mattered very little. He liked the girl – no, woman – and he could already see that her company was helping Reid. He wasn't as blind as the rest of the team to the young genius' emotional turmoil recently, and was a bit perplexed at the budding friendship between the two, but hell, if it wasn't harming Spencer or the team, what was the problem?

JJ was the first to notice Spencer's new appearance.

"Spence! You look good like this! Why the makeover?" she smiled. Reid smiled back at his friend nervously, and cleared his throat to be heard over the excited exclamations of Garcia and the others.  
"No reason, I just decided I should stop looking like a university student after a wild night out for a change. I _am _a grown man, after all," he smiled. Behind him, Katrina allowed herself a broad smirk at his phrasing, and his decision to lie by omission. After all, everyone was concentrating on him so nobody would know she was involved in his image change. _Well now, so the good Doctor can be sneaky too, hm? Most interesting..._ She decided he'd earned himself free access to her rooms for now, if he ever needed help with his addiction again, so she stepped closer to him and slipped a copy of her keys, with a note she'd prepared while he was sleeping, into his pocket, unseen and unfelt.

Spencer turned around, still smiling, in search of Katrina, and found her staring in the opposite direction. Following her gaze, his smile faded as he saw Morgan stomping towards her with an angry sneer on his face. He glared at him; really, why on earth did he hate her so much? Everyone else had more or less accepted her by now, seeing as they were terrified of being on the receiving end of that feral glare from last time, but also because she was polite and did not cause problems. He nudged Rossi, who groaned as he spotted Morgan's stubborn expression. His gaze slid to Katrina, noting the subtle indications of tension in her stance, which reminded him of a panther about to strike, her gaze unwavering on her opponent, and her legs just slightly bent to allow for quick movement. Her right hand twitched a bit, and he assumed she had a weapon of some sort stashed near her hip. The others stopped talking as they turned their attention to the imminent confrontation with worried eyes.

Morgan strode up to the assassin: "Still here, are you?"

"Yes. I believe my contract indicates that I remain here to protect you until the danger is eliminated. _As Section Chief Strauss told you when I first arrived."_ Her voice was frosty, and her gaze was flinty, glittering with aggression. Still Morgan persisted, rendered stupid and blind by testosterone, she figured. _Tch. Alpha males. What useless scum._

"I don't think we need your protection. It's not like they're robots, and I'm pretty good at fighting. Plus, Hotch and Rossi are good shots. I reckon we can take them," he boasted, not noticing or not caring that his teammates were shaking their heads in disbelief and horror. She narrowed her eyes, flicking her gaze to Rossi, who sighed but gave her a small nod as if to say 'go on, teach him a lesson.' Her eyes flashed, causing him to almost regret his assent, and she stepped towards Morgan with a decidedly malicious expression.

"Really now? How _impressive._ Perhaps I should allow you to test that theory. After all, if you can 'take them' then you should have no problems subduing me." Garcia turned pale at this, worried about her good friend, while everyone else, including Hotch, who had arrived unnoticed a few minutes earlier, watched with wide eyes. Morgan paused, a bit surprised by this development, and glared at her through narrowed eyes. She taunted him.

"What, are you afraid to discover you're wrong? Or do you have the mistaken belief that because I'm a woman you shouldn't attack me?"

At these words, Morgan stood to his full height, and retaliated in a venomous voice: "Oh I don't hit women, but scum, on the other hand, has no sex. You'd better prepare yourself." There was a collective gasp, and Reid felt fury ignite within him, causing his breathing to become a bit shallower and his scowl to become a full-blown glare. Hotch also glared at his younger teammate, resolving to put him on probation if he survived Katrina's retribution. He prayed she would be merciful.

Her eyes widened a fraction before becoming slits through which only her dilated pupils could be glimpsed, her upper lip curling into a disdainful sneer. "You foolish, brainless, worthless _twit_. You are so absorbed in your mistaken ideals of superior morality and your own imaginary prowess that you fail to see what is in front of you. When you wake up on a hospital bed in a few day, be sure to remember this conversation."

"Wha-" Morgan didn't finish his angry retort as Katrina moved in a blur, punching him in the solar plexus, then bringing her knee up, smashing his nose as he doubled over. She picked him up from where he lay, winded, on the floor, and threw him a few metres as if he weighed no more than a sack of potatoes despite his impressive height and muscles. She stalked towards him as he struggled to his feet, blood gushing from his nose, looking like a predatory cat playing with a mouse. As he recovered enough to rush at her, aiming a punch at her face, she stepped a little to the side, grabbing his arm and twisting it into a painful lock, pinning him with disdainful ease as she used his weight and momentum against him. Katrina dug her heel into his shoulder blade, twisting his arm up higher, which caused him to cry out in pain.  
"So, was this what you had in mind when you said you could take on Hansel and Gretel? I must say, I was expecting a bit more from such misguided boasting." His only response was a furious growl as he writhed on the floor, jumping up again when she freed his arm. He charged at her again, and again she used his momentum against him, sending him flying with a flick of her wrist while holding his. Seeing that he still refused to back down, she opted for her customary ruthlessness, bordering on cruelty. Before he could get up again, she slammed her heel into his stomach, which made him curl up, fighting for breath, then proceeded to riddle him with small but very strong and well-aimed kicks, all the while standing on one leg with her hands in her pockets, a picture of cruel nonchalance.

As he gasped for breath, Garcia cried out for her to stop, which only earned her a disdainful glare as the assassin returned to her handiwork, increasing the strength of her kicks until she felt his ribs crack. After one last brutal blow to the humiliated Agent's sternum, she gave him an evil smile and turned away, her hands still in her pockets. Desperately trying to save face, he swiped at her feet, hoping to make her fall, but she easily executed a front-flip, keeping her hands in her pockets, then turned back to him with wide eyes, the fully dilated pupils promising excruciating pain. Katrina slowly stalked towards her prone target, who stared up at her imploringly, realising his mistake. She ignored him. Bending, she pressed her hand into his throat, crushing it. As he wheezed and choked, she whispered into his ear: "If I keep pressing, I will crush your windpipe, and even you should know that is irreversible and fatal. Now then, if you want me to let you live, you will behave civilly in the future, and I do not want to hear any more insults about my status as a human being, _are we understood?_" he nodded eagerly as soon as she released his throat, staring into her eyes fearfully. Katrina gave him one last scorching glare before turning to the team, and addressed Hotch.

"Someone will need to take him to the hospital. He has several cracked ribs and internal bleeding, and a dislocated shoulder. Oh, and a broken nose, most likely," Garcia hurried over to her friend as the others stared mutely at the terrifying woman before them. Her voice had returned to its usual silky indifference and her heavy-lidded eyes no longer alive with aggression. She wasn't even slightly out of breath. Spencer sucked in a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, noting that he'd have to reconcile the cruel, brutal assassin he'd just seen with the quick-witted and sarcastic woman he'd known until now. He found he didn't have any difficulty doing so, which was both surprising and a bit worrying, but he attributed it to his frequent exposure to serial killers. He glanced at Rossi and saw that he too, seemed content with her character, whilst the others just looked stunned and horrified. He smirked. _Well, nobody's ever going to oppose her again now. Which is probably why she did it, _the little voice added, reminding him that the confusing woman's every act was deliberate. It was only after this realisation that the full extent of her skill and profiling abilities hit him. Yes, he had known she was fiercely intelligent, and yes, he had also known she was good at reading people, and also that she was good at fighting, but he had not yet totally realised just how good she was. He suddenly felt much more confident about the pursuit of the two assassins.

He looked up and noticed she was watching him, likely searching his body language for signs of revulsion. He gave her a small smile and an understanding nod instead, and was rewarded with widened eyes and a genuinely pleased grin which crinkled the corners of her eyes.

Hotch cleared his throat, "We will deal with this incident later. Katrina, you and I will report to Chief Strauss to discuss the punishment for Agent Morgan after the meeting. For now, let's get back to work."


	5. Chapter 5

_BAU Conference room_

Hotch addressed Katrina coolly, ignoring his team's shell-shocked expressions. Garcia had left to take Morgan to the hospital. The young man really did need to learn to manage that temper of his, although this was the first time he'd reacted like this. The assassin's retribution was probably en effective lesson, but he was fond of the rash agent, and had been horrified by the sudden violence she had exhibited; she had been merciless, efficient, and he imagined a serial killer at work would not be dissimilar, which filled him with revulsion. Of course, he was always too professional to let his dislike influence his job, but it was difficult even for him to appear neutral with her.

"What do you propose to do in order to catch this team, then?" the question was rather more curt than he would have liked, and he drew a small breath to calm himself.

"There is not much you can do, but I will call some people who may know what this is about and where to find them. The BAU should continue working on more urgent cases for now – gathering information will take me a while, and now that they have made their point they will lie low."

Blake raised her eyebrows disbelievingly, as JJ frowned, but it was Hotch who spoke first:

"How do you know they will lie low, if you are their target and they know you're here? It seems a bit contradictory, don't you think?" Katrina eyed him warily before answering in a slightly weary voice:

"For a normal person or a serial killer, it doesn't make sense. But these two are not driven by any sort of need for killing. We all get quite enough of _that_ on a normal day. While Gretel is especially psychotic, she's cunning. As I said before, it's my move. As long as I don't take too long to react, they will assume I'm planning something and hide from me," she smirked evilly, "As long as they don't know what to expect, they will do nothing. I've had some run-ins with them before; they know not to attack me rashly." Well, after today there certainly wasn't much anyone could say to that.

JJ spoke up, being less afraid of the intimidating woman than Blake and Garcia – though they would never, ever admit it of course – since Spence seemed to enjoy her company, so she couldn't be all _that_ bad, she reasoned.

"So while we work on new cases, will you come with us? I mean, will your intel-gathering involve being away from us?"

Reid frowned a little, annoyed he hadn't thought of that before. _Seriously, an IQ of 187 and you miss the obvious. great going, Doctor. Oh, shut up. Here I go again. _

"Not for the most part. It is possible, however unlikely, that they will strike at you first in order to make me react, so I will stay with you as often as I can, at least while you're working. Ideally each of you would have some sort of protection at home, but as I cannot clone myself, and it would be highly irritating for everyone involved, we will have to make do without that. However, someone should speak to the CIA about surveillance of your homes." At the team's displeased expressions, she rolled her eyes.

"Do please act more maturely and look at the bigger picture. Nobody ever enjoys surveillance or bodyguards, least of all the ones actually doing it. However, they are occasionally necessary, and unless you wish to be abducted by a team of cold-hearted psychos to be used as bait, it will happen, so you'd best reconcile yourselves with the idea now." Rossi sighed, but nobody commented any further, and she seemed satisfied with the response.

_About an hour later._

Reid was the last one left in the bullpen. He was sitting at his desk, spinning around on his chair absently. It had certainly been a very eventful day, what with his unexpected makeover, and Morgan's trip to the hospital. He shifted uneasily as he was reminded that he was the only one who wasn't planning to go visit his teammate in the hospital, much to Garcia's loudly voiced anger, but he was still simply too angry and disappointed in the older man. Despite his less-than-tactful teasing and sometimes insensitive comments, Derek had often been like an older brother to him, someone he looked up to, in a way. Seeing him act so despicably towards Katrina for no apparent reason other than the fact that she was an assassin had opened his eyes to a truth he had not wanted to know, and made him very disappointed. Obviously nobody approved of her career choice, but everyone else managed to stay polite and professional, so Morgan really had no excuse.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. Now that he thought about it... Katrina's first expression after being called 'scum' had been pain. In the split second before she had adopted the murderous expression which had remained on her face until after she was done, he had been able to see she was probably recalling some very, very painful memories. Well, that was what he assumed anyway; she never gave much away. He thought he was right, however, because she'd had to struggle to regain her composure, something he was sure was exceedingly rare. As if that weren't proof enough, her hand had twitched, but instead of reaching instinctively for a weapon, it had twitched upwards, as if to defend her upper body.

It suddenly occurred to him that Katrina's life could not have been very pleasant at all – after all, who willingly becomes an assassin if they're from a good family and have had a normal childhood? He instantly felt guilty and stupid for not considering this at all when he and everyone else had questioned her morals. Oh, he hadn't cared that they seemed not to exist, but he hadn't ever thought about _why_ that was. Perhaps she did have them, but hadn't had any choice but to go down this path. He felt guilty.

Just then, he put his hand in his left pocket, searching for his phone, and felt a piece of paper and what felt like a card next to it. He frowned, perplexed; he hadn't put that in there. Pulling his fist out, he saw that the card was a key to Katrina's room, and the paper was a note: "_Reid – since you seem to be capable of exercising caution, I am giving you free access to my room if you ever find yourself in need of contacting me."_

He snorted; the tone was so typical of what he had come to expect – curt and concise, all business. He decided to try it out, and promptly left for the hotel.

_Katrina's room_

Spencer walked around the luxurious room, paying more attention now that he was clear-headed. While it was definitely comfortable, it lacked any emotional or personal character. _Well, obviously, it's a hotel room. What did you expect, family photos and personal items all over the place? _Still, it was almost unnaturally tidy. Most people didn't bother with tidiness too much if they were staying in a hotel, but she kept everything spotless and clinically neat. He noted that everything that was easily transportable was located in readily visible spots – no hiding places in corners or objects to hide behind. He felt sure Katrina had done this, that it wasn't a feature of the room before her arrival. He hesitated as he neared her bedroom door, which was open, like every other door in the room. He decided to enter anyway. The bed was made, her suitcases still packed and closed, lined up against the wall where she could see them at all times. He turned around, spotting another bag, hidden underneath a much bigger suitcase. Odd. He wondered what was in there, but decided it would a very bad idea to open it, so he left, heading towards the bathroom.

A few minutes later, Katrina entered the room, doing her customary scan. She froze when she noticed some of the magazines in her pile had been moved, and the corner of the carpet was scuffed. Her heartbeat rose in response to the adrenaline now coursing through her veins. Had Hansel and Gretel changed their MO and come to find her before she could react? The thought made her scowl. She deftly retrieved a kunai from her belt, the light reflecting off the wicked-looking blade. As insurance, she loosened the tie around a second kunai, before stealthily moving towards the couch. Unfortunately, Spencer chose that moment to emerge from the bathroom, and yelped as Katrina spun around and launched the kunai at his head faster than he could process what he was seeing, leaving a scratch on his cheek before it embedded itself deeply into the door.

The pair stared at each other, both frozen in their respective positions. Reid was curled up on the floor, arms raised defensively, while Katrina had frozen half-turn, her hips facing slightly away from Reid as her raised eyebrows and wide eyes betrayed her shock. He was the first to move, wiping blood from his cheek.

"Wow, you surprised me! I didn't hear you come in at all" he watched her face closely as her sharp eyes focused on his blood, causing her to frown in concern. She walked quickly towards him.

"I would appreciate a bit of warning before you come here – I almost killed you," she sighed, "although I suppose I really should have realised that you'd want to test the key as soon as possible."  
She leaned in a bit closer, examining the cut, before declaring that it wasn't too deep and that he should just disinfect it daily. Spencer watched her with interest, noting as she leaned closer that her eyes had a ring of gold around the pupil, but were otherwise a dark forest or bottle green, with a ring of green so dark it was almost black around the iris. So occupied was he in his observation of her eyes that he failed to notice when she looked up, directly at him. Her brow creased a little as she asked herself what he was doing, but she remained in that position, calmly staring into his eyes as well. She waited until he realised what position they were in. After a pause, he blinked, and reared back violently, cheeks aflame as he stammered an apology.

She smirked at him, opening her mouth to deliver a snarky comment about silly romantic notions, but blinked in surprise as he tripped over his shoelaces and fell backwards, a bemused expression on his now scarlet face. Her smirk widened into a wide smile before she could stop it, and a guffaw forced its way past her lips. At his shocked expression, she burst out laughing, shaking with mirth and throwing her head back. After a surprised pause, Spencer joined in, but stopped before she did, still embarrassed at his customary display of clumsiness and surprised by her laughter.

Her eyes were half-closed and her smile was wide and slightly lopsided. Her thick, black braid had slipped off her shoulder and was now swinging across her back. Her laugh was rich and throaty, and very contagious. It seemed odd coming from such a controlled person, who never seemed to show any sort of emotion if she could help it, but he mused that it suited her. It made her look mischievous and young, and he rolled his eyes at the cliche. _Yeah, and now you're going to say that she suddenly seems utterly beautiful, as if illuminated, and you've never seen a more gorgeous sight. Please. _it did make him wonder how old she really was though, as it was impossible to tell exactly just by looking at her. Her laughter ended as abruptly as it had started, and she cleared her throat, moving to yank the kunai from the door.

Katrina headed to the kitchen area to make herself some coffee, and hold the blade under the tap to wash the blood off. She wiped it mechanically while Reid watched in silence. Finally she glanced up at him, amused by his expression:

"Ask. You look like your head is going to explode if you don't."

"How old are you?" he blurted, wincing at how eager he sounded. She stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment,

"About 30, I presume," he frowned questioningly, and she sighed,

"I am an orphan - I don't know my exact age. Does it matter?"

"No, I was just curious; it's hard to tell, so..." Spencer trailed off, deciding he'd better ask her something else now that she seemed to be in a divulgatory mood.

"What is in the black bag in your room?"

She looked up from her mug sharply and cocked her head, assessing the fidgeting profiler through narrowed eyes, debating whether or not she minded his snooping. On one hand, it was intrusive and made her wary of him, knowing that with his razor-sharp intellect and keen observational skills he'd probably started profiling her. On the other hand, she was intrigued by the challenge and appreciated his intelligence and inquisitiveness, so anger at his actions seemed contradictory. She settled for letting him off the hook this time. It didn't really matter if he knew what was in there anyway.

"Knives, sharp things, some guns. The tools of the trade," she drawled sardonically, but he wasn't fooled and realised she was testing him. Spencer smiled at her,

"So, can we start training today? Even though you said they'd hide for now, it's safer if I start learning early, right?" At her smirk, he knew he'd passed the test, whatever it was, and let his shoulders droop in relief.

"You asked for it. Alright, I'll lend you some appropriate clothes, then show me what you can do."


	6. Chapter 6

_Katrina's room_

Reid helped Katrina move the couch and the small coffee table aside to create a large space in the middle of the living room. He tugged at the T-shirt she had lent him; it was a bit of a tight fit since she couldn't find a man's T-shirt in her collection – only shirts - and had to lend him one of hers. The trousers were also hers, but since they were unisex and she usually wore them long so that the bottoms dragged on the floor, they were a good fit for the taller man. He watched her expectantly as she raked her eyes over his thin frame assessingly. Finally she spoke:

"So, what is it you want to improve first?"

"Uhh, well, I guess my strength and my marksmanship, stuff like that..." he trailed off, but she understood what he meant. He really looked hopelessly frail, like a pipe-cleaner with eyes. As far as strength was concerned, it would be easy to fix – being a man, he would bulk up pretty fast as long as he exercised regularly. Marksmanship, though... She'd have to see what his natural abilities were.

"Getting stronger should be fairly easy. You just have to exercise regularly. You know the drill I hope: sit-ups, push-ups, running, stretching... They should get you into shape soon if you do them properly," Katrina said, her tone all business as she crossed her arms. Spencer sighed inwardly; he'd never enjoyed those exercises but he knew better than to complain.

"All right, so should I, you know, start on those now?" he asked, a bit unsure. She shook her head,

"No, first you have to warm up. In your state you could pull a muscle or something," she grinned at him, "first, do some basic stretches for 15 minutes." Reid obeyed, sighing a little, which went steadfastly ignored.

After he'd done a few leg stretches, she intervened, telling him his posture was wrong,

"If you turn you hip in, you'll just hurt yourself," she grabbed his thigh firmly and gently turned it so the knee was facing outward, which felt very strange, "There, now do it again."  
To his surprise, he found that this was indeed a bit easier on the joints, although his muscles burned from the effort. Katrina watched him appraisingly. He was surprisingly flexible for someone who exercised so little. Most men found it extremely difficult to move their hips outward, given the slight differences in orientation between men and women's hip joints. He finished the warm-ups without comment from his instructor, and turned towards her, feeling proud of himself since no comment was the equivalent of approval with her. She smirked at his self-satisfaction:

"You're not done yet, Doc. Now do as many push-ups as you can."

She raised her eyebrows when he only got to 15 before collapsing, panting. Rolling her eyes with a smile, she said: "Well, at least you can only improve. The easy way to figure out if you're getting stronger is to do this every day at least twice a day, and count how many you can do. As you get stronger, obviously you're going to do more." He mock-glared at her for her obvious amusement before asking her how many she could do. She scoffed:

"Many, _many_ more than you, and that's all you need to know. Now, sit-ups," He repeated the exercise until she was satisfied, receiving the same instructions as before. Finally she let him rest, and left him sprawled inelegantly on the floor, fighting for breath, while she retrieved a bottle of water for the exhausted profiler. He drank gratefully, finding that the endorphin rush he was currently experiencing felt very good indeed.

"So, I thought you said I'd regret asking you to teach me. So far it seems to be alright," he grinned cheekily up at the assassin, who smirked right back.

"I went easy on you. If I'd directly given you the sort of instruction I received it would have been painful and counterproductive. Besides, if you like pain _that _much I can always start on you after you get stronger," she retorted with a predatory grin. Spencer faltered, shaking his head vigorously, which earned him another small laugh and a playful swat to the head, much to his delight.

"Katrina?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you teach me to shoot now?"

Her startled snort made him smile as she turned back towards him.

"Sure, but I must say I wasn't expecting you to be so eager. Where do you want to do it? Shooting range?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess... nobody from the team is using it, so..." Spencer suddenly felt reluctant, not wanting to risk meeting someone he knew. Katrina simply raised an eyebrow and provided him with a solution to his problem:

"I meant a private range. No way am I going to teach you anything where people are going to eavesdrop. Besides, you won't hear anything I say otherwise." She dismissed his grateful smile with a wave, and told him to hurry since they had to drive for a while to get there.

_Shooting range_

"No! Not like that. Relax your shoulders and look at the target, not the barrel," Katrina corrected Reid for the umpteenth time, though her voice remained as steady as ever, never betraying her growing irritation. The genius was no good at shooting. His incessant worrying and over-thinking made his stance stiff and it stopped him from aiming correctly. He frowned at her last instruction:

"At the Academy they taught us to raise the gun in line with the eyes so that we could align the two with the target," he protested, but quailed as she rolled her eyes, out of exasperation this time.

"Well no wonder policemen are such bad shots. Your limbs tremble slightly all the time, and if you close one eye to aim, like you've been doing, your spatial perception is off. You should know that. If you look at the target you will usually hit it properly. Now, try again."

Spencer did as he was told, and his eyes widened in surprise when his second shot came much closer to the bulls-eye than his previous ones. He whooped in triumph and laughed contentedly when Katrina said "Good," which from her was high praise. She shook her head at his enthusiasm, but refrained from commenting, sensing he'd probably needed to know he could do something he found difficult. She'd overheard Agents Hotchner and Rossi talking about him worriedly, saying the quality of his work had started dropping very slightly. She guessed it had something to do with his drug problem and the departure of this Emily woman, so the burst of confidence he gained today would probably make him feel better. She was startled out of her musings by a gentle tug on her sleeve. Reid was looking at her, obviously expecting a response to something. She blinked.

"Oh, yes, I'd love to," she improvised, having heard something about dinner. Thankfully, he seemed satisfied with her hurried response and turned to leave.

She gave herself a mental slap for not paying attention as she followed him back to the car.

_BAU, the next day_

Reid arrived at the bullpen to find everyone except Morgan, who was still in the hospital, gathered around the CIA agent from last time, Terry Fielding. It was obviously a "liaison" day, but since Katrina was nowhere to be seen, he hadn't missed anything. He approached the group receiving his customary greetings, but noting the absence of Morgan's clap on the back and "pretty boy" comments with a touch of guilt. He hadn't yet visited his rash friend, and resolved to go later that day. Rossi gave him a shrewd once-over, satisfied that the younger man looked better-rested and cleaner than he had done recently. He correctly guessed that the assassin had something to do with the genius' sudden improvements, including his new shoes, which suited his age and his clothes much better than his old converse trainers.

"Good weekend?" Rossi asked him with a knowing smile. Spencer felt alarmed for a moment, then realised the older agent was referring to his healthier look, and relaxed.

"Yeah, it was nice," he replied, but was saved from elaborating by Fielding,

"Dr. Reid, nice to see you again. You've probably realised I'm here for the weekly report on your investigation," Reid greeted him suspiciously, wondering why he was telling him this when Hotch or Rossi were the ones he should really be talking to.

"Yes, Agents Hotchner and Rossi have probably already filled you in, or they will do so in a moment," his coolly polite answer sent the CIA agent a clear message: _Don't even try to pressure me into extra info – I know what you're up to and won't be intimidated._

Hotch and Rossi, who were in fact listening attentively to the exchange, having noticed the operative's interest in Reid with worry, smirked inwardly, proud and a bit surprised. Fielding's expression was comical, and Spencer thought uncharitably that CIA operatives ought to control their expressions better; perhaps they should take lessons from Katrina, who was even harder to read than Hotch. _Oh, speak of the devil, and in she comes, _he thought fondly, noticing the beautiful woman stride in behind Fielding, who noticed his gaze and turned around. He greeted the assassin with poorly concealed distaste, and a hint of fear, which everyone present noted and filed away for future reference. His demeanour, however, remained professional, indicating he was used to dealing with her "kind."

"Ah, so they hired you. Reaper, wasn't it?" Katrina's face was blank, and she responded with an equally polite tone.

"Fielding. Yes to both, however, around here I'm known as Katrina," for a moment, her eyes glittered with menace, breaking her expressionless mask, as she silently dared the CIA agent to comment on her use of what he knew was her real name. He took the hint after a tense moment in which he opened his mouth with an incredulous expression, and simply nodded. She narrowed her eyes at him almost imperceptibly, then turned to the team, who had watched the exchange with interest.

"Good morning. I apologise for being late; I was tracking down one of my sources," Spencer felt slightly hurt that her gaze lingered on his only for a moment and kept the same dead look, but quickly realised they couldn't show the team how close they were becoming so soon.

"A reluctant informant?" Rossi questioned her seemingly casually, which earned him a smirk.

"Aren't they all?" she replied.

Hotch then turned to Fielding, explaining that she would be doing most of the investigative work, since she had deemed it too dangerous for the team to do so, so they would keep working on cases while she protected them. The other man visibly blanched at the thought of having to obtain information from the intimidating assassin, who would likely be extremely uncooperative, as they always were. _The damn monsters guard information like it's the key to their survival, even when it's not necessary._

Katrina, guessing his poorly guarded thoughts, glared at him, but reluctantly told him that she was gathering information on the enemy's whereabouts and employer after Hotch nodded at her. She refused to say any more, but told him ominously she'd have a word with the higher-ups about hiring assassins they couldn't control, and neglecting to check if they were in the employ of anyone else before taking them on. Fielding gulped, knowing he'd be the one to suffer if she did that, since the assassin herself was untouchable, being both far too valuable and far too terrifying to punish. He escaped before Katrina could do any more damage, to her smug satisfaction.

Spencer and JJ stifled their inappropriate snorts of laughter at the pompous CIA operative's hasty retreat, while Rossi didn't bother to hide his mirth, and even Hotch seemed marginally less tense. Katrina's satisfaction appeared short-lived, however, and her small smirk quickly disappeared, followed by a grim, piercing glare at the door.

Nobody but Spencer noticed, as nobody was paying enough attention and the assassin clearly didn't expect the genius to watch her so often, which was why she let her mask slip, but she was really too interesting and he couldn't resist. And the idea that he was the only one to catch her unguarded expressions didn't hurt, either, his conscience supplied snidely. He ignored it and kept watching her. Her face was a bit worrying, as it indicated she thought that Fielding was up to something, and he felt a shiver of apprehension crawl down his spine as he watched her pensive expression turn into realisation, then a split-second of alarm. _Uh-oh... That's definitely not good, whatever it is... Maybe I should talk to Hotch about Fielding, see what he thinks. _But for now, he had an old friend to visit.

Spencer sighed, knowing this visit wouldn't be much fun and not looking forward to the accusations his teammate would likely launch at him, in his anger at being ignored. He smiled at Katrina as he passed her on his way out, noting that her face was once again smooth and cold as if nothing had happened. He told her he was going to visit Morgan in the hospital, as visiting hours had just started and they had no cases today. He was disappointed that the only response he received was a raised eyebrow and smug grin, hoping for more information about her thoughts, but her sharp eyes picked up on it and he blanched as they narrowed into a dangerously calculating expression. He escaped hastily before she found out he had been watching her and attempting to profile her again, something he knew she disliked. After all, it wasn't a matter of _whether_ she'd find out, but _when. And the later the better in this case, _he thought despondently.


	7. Chapter 7

_Central Hospital_

Spencer paced in front of Morgan's door, overcome with a sudden case of cold feet. His friend didn't know he was here, and Spencer himself wasn't sure he wanted to be. Sighing, he squared his shoulders, drew in a shaky breath and stepped into the small, neat room, bracing himself for an argument. Morgan looked up and beamed at him:

"Hey, my man! What's up pretty boy? Haven't seen you in a while," Spencer smiled at him warmly, relieved by his old friend's obvious pleasure.

"Sorry Morgan, I was busy," he said with a sheepish grin. The older agent gave him a knowing smirk and a sly wink,

"Getting out there with the ladies, huh? Or just Katrina?" Reid looked up sharply, surprised he'd brought up the topic so soon and seemingly without bitterness. Morgan smiled at him a bit sadly, glancing down at the cast covering his right elbow and shoulder. Reid frowned a little as he noticed how heavily bandaged his torso and arms were. Katrina had really been brutal in her retribution, perhaps excessively so.

"I'm sorry for being rude to you, kid. I behaved like a proper idiot, didn't I?" Derek shook his head.

"I shouldn't have lost my temper for every little thing, it was unprofessional, even though I still hate her," he admitted with surprising maturity. Reid just stared at him in shock, prompting a snort and a mocking; "You don't look so pretty with your mouth hanging open like that, Reid." Spencer closed his mouth and glared at him half-heartedly.

"Why did you lose it like that? Some of the things you said to her before –"Reid gestured to Morgan's injured body, "- were really hurtful. She didn't do anything to provoke you, Morgan."

Derek remained silent, observing the young genius, who suddenly looked so much more mature than he had always considered him to be. Finally he spoke, hesitantly:

"I honestly don't know, kid. It was like I couldn't think through the haze of anger... It was really strange," Spencer remained sceptical, but didn't voice his doubts, knowing it wouldn't help.

"You should apologise to her," he told his friend sternly, insisting when he saw him wince, "Morgan..."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll apologise, but I'll stay out of her way if she stays out of mine," he added petulantly, returning to his characteristic mix of maturity and childishness, much to Spencer's amusement.

"Morgan, do you really think Katrina has nothing better to do than annoy you all day long while she's supposed to be hunting 2 dangerous assassins? I didn't think so," he added, seeing his teammate shake his head slightly.

"Well, I should be going; you look tired. Are you on painkillers?" Morgan winced as he repositioned himself,

"Yeah, 'cause of my broken ribs. Man, I never stood a chance, did I?" Reid gave him a small smile, but said nothing, seeing Morgan's eyelids droop.

"Bye Morgan, see you soon," Spencer smirked at his friend, watching him lose the fight against the morphine or whatever he was on, and only manage a garbled grunt instead of the sentence he was obviously trying to articulate, before starting to snore softly.

As he walked towards the exit, Reid mused that he should ask Katrina to remain civil around Morgan, even though it would probably not be necessary. He therefore headed towards her hotel resolutely, looking forward to talking with the witty assassin.

_Katrina's room_

When he arrived, he looked around the empty room dejectedly. She was nowhere to be found, and wasn't answering either of her phones. After an hour of sitting around, pacing, and brewing coffee, he began to feel worried. _Where is she, god damn it? It's so late! I hope nothing's happened... _he tried calling her again, but still no answer.

She found him curled up on the couch four hours later, asleep in an uncomfortable, twisted position, wearing a deep frown. His phone was open in his hand, as if he had been staring at it, waiting for an answer. Katrina froze where she stood, confused and concerned, feeling stirrings of an emotion she did not recognise behind her carefully erected mental walls. Suddenly realising he must have been waiting for her, she checked her phones, raising her eyebrows in shock when she saw 30 missed calls and 7 voice messages, all from him. Lifting her eyes to his face, troubled even in sleep, she stepped closer to his prone body.

Hesitantly following a mad impulse, she bent and softly brushed his now clean hair from his eyes, smoothing the deep crease between his eyebrows with a finger. His expression cleared and he emitted a soft sigh, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. Katrina kept watching him, a perplexed expression on her face. She wasn't sure it was a good idea to remain so close to him. He made her _feel_, and emotion was weakness.

She had wrestled with rage and hatred her whole life, the destructive power of those emotions consuming her and shaping her vindictive, unbalanced personality. They were safe emotions; if she had to feel, she preferred it to be them. But Reid, Reid made her laugh for the first time in 5 years, he made her worried about his safety, he worried about her and challenged her intellectually. It was starting to feel a lot like friendship, and Katrina didn't like it. It made her feel exposed, weak, and out of control. No, she had to find a way to distance herself; this couldn't go on, not after she had painstakingly rebuilt her life into a semblance of order.

That thought brought her attention back to her clothes, which were dripping blood onto the previously immaculately shiny floor. She sighed, calculating how much time she'd have to spend scrubbing that out. It wasn't hers, of course; the man she'd been hunting down had been reluctant to divulge any information about Hansel and Gretel, and she'd been forced to torture him. He insulted her using one of her triggers in the end, to try and salvage his wounded pride, and she'd snapped, slaughtering him with uncharacteristic savagery even by her standards. She smirked. _A fat load of good it did him to insult me; I got all the info anyway. _She straightened and walked towards her room, shedding her bloodstained clothes.

Spencer slowly opened his eyes just as she was entering her room, registering the stench of blood and seeing droplets of it on the floor, making a trail to her bedroom. A jolt of fear jerked him into awareness, propelling him off the couch and into her room faster than he had ever moved. As the door burst open, both froze in surprise.

Katrina was standing in her bra and underwear, wiping blood off her skin where it had seeped through her dark clothes. She was standing directly in front of him, affording him a wonderful view of her voluptuous curves, long, toned limbs, and rock-hard stomach. As he gaped at her, mouth hanging open and wide eyes completing the comical look, he noticed how many scars marred her otherwise smooth skin, and how defined her muscles were despite her lean figure. The reminder of her profession was enough to jerk him back to his senses, and he recovered before she did.

Spencer took a moment to enjoy her shocked face, before asking cautiously:

"Um, sorry, but I saw the blood, and, well- are you okay?"

She just stared at him, before shaking her head angrily and grabbing a dressing gown from her closet to hurriedly cover her body.

"I'm fine," she spat, her insecurity and shock translating into anger, as always. Reid, taken aback by her tone, recoiled slightly, causing her to wince internally.

"The blood isn't mine," she grudgingly supplied, resignedly watching his eyes grow wide with horror. Not wanting to deal with his disgust just then, she fixed the terrified profiler with her most venomous glare, "now, if you're _quite_ finished ogling me, I'd like to get dressed."

"Uh, wha-"

"_GET OUT!" _she all but roared at him, causing him to scamper from the room, slamming the door.

Katrina stared at the spot he'd stood in, and then growled in frustration. She turned and grabbed a pillow, venting her inexplicable anger into it. It was starting again, the instability, the loss of control. She recognised it with terror, the prelude to insanity. _Damn you, Fisher!_ It was all his fault, she decided; he'd used her trigger, knowing what it would do. Someone had to have told him about it, she realised as her mind cleared. That someone would have to be silenced, she knew, but didn't relish the thought. _What if I lose it when I find him or her? Will I be able to get better? It was hard enough last time... _Shaking her head, she donned her sleeping trousers and a random T-shirt.

Snatching her bloody clothes from the floor, Katrina balled them up and shoved them into a plastic bag, to be destroyed. She found Spencer sitting on the couch again, to her disbelief. He was fidgeting. She stood at a safe distance from him, and cocked her head, watching him with open curiosity.

"Why are still here?" He gulped, and met her gaze with difficulty, uncomfortably aware that his terror still hadn't worn off. He refused to look away, however, and managed to glare at her.

"Did you really need to yell at me like that? I was worried about you! I wasn't expecting you to be undressed!"

"I know," she responded neutrally, still wearing that odd expression, like she was trying to figure something out but couldn't quite manage. Spencer's anger fizzled out, leaving him tired and confused by her reaction.

"What were you doing?"

"Gathering intel on the enemy, as I said I would. He was reluctant to give it to me, so I forced him. End of story." Katrina's tone and eyes were dead, neutral, and Spencer briefly wondered why.  
Suddenly something clicked in his mind, and he could have smacked himself for not realising sooner that she was waiting for his judgement, his disgust at her brutality. It must have been all she had come to expect from outsiders, and he imagined she hadn't wanted to deal with it just then.

As if that weren't enough, he had walked in on her in an exposed state; as tightly controlled as she was, the assassin must have panicked and recoiled from any comment while she was at a disadvantage. He smiled at her reassuringly, causing her to jerk back in surprise, then narrow her eyes at him, expecting some sort of trick.

"I'm glad you weren't hurt. I was worried," he added, watching with satisfaction as her face relaxed slightly, appearing perplexed rather than suspicious. He had seen the relief flash for an instant across her elegant features, though, and filed it away for further analysis later. He decided it was a good time to be open with her.

"Katrina, I had an idea of what your job entailed when I first called you for help. I'm not about to suddenly start judging you for it now, you should realise that," he told her gently, "I'm sorry you thought I would." He observed her attentively, feeling a twinge of sadness as she shut her eyes tightly. Spencer felt a sudden urge to hug her, and considered the risks of doing so now. He decided it was safe enough, so he stood and walked towards her. Just as her eyes shot open upon hearing his steps, his arms came around her and pulled her to him tightly. She struggled for a moment, one hand curling into a fist while the other dug into his bicep, but she let go of him once she realised what he was doing. He held on tightly, willing her to respond, and was about to move away, embarrassed, when she awkwardly lifted one hand and slid it up his back, patting his shoulder. He remained still for a moment longer, relishing the feel of her body pressed against his, noting that despite her voluptuous appearance, she really was quite thin, and didn't feel like most women he'd hugged; she was all hard, lean muscle where they had been soft, pliant curves. He was startled out of his inappropriate contemplations by her voice, as she cleared her throat awkwardly:

"Erm, you can let go now," he did so quickly, red-faced, which earned him a fond smirk, and she tousled his hair, making it look even more like a rat's nest.

"Come on then, Doc, let's get you some coffee. You look like hell."


	8. Chapter 8

A few hours later, Spencer and Katrina were still on her large, and thankfully, very comfortable couch. They had sat in comfortable silence for some time now, and Spencer was starting to feel sleepy, despite the coffee. He glanced at Katrina, who appeared to be lost in thought, staring into her mug of mocha with unwarranted intensity. He grinned:

"Is the mocha that interesting?"

Her vaguely surprised expression upon glancing up at him indicated that he'd just interrupted a deep thought of some sort.

"It's very late. Aren't you sleepy?" he asked her, hurriedly trying to think of something to say now that he'd started a conversation. She noted his uneasiness with amusement, as always, and raised an eyebrow,

"No. Are you?"

"Not really."

"I see."

He silence that followed was tense and awkward as Spencer tried to think of a way to save face while Katrina just watched him interestedly, knowing full well how he felt and finding it highly entertaining. When Reid finally noticed the mischievous glint in her eyes and spluttered in mock outrage, her little smirk grew into a wide smile:

"Hey! You were deliberately being unhelpful just to make me uncomfortable! That's not nice!"

"Who, me?" she protested innocently, while adopting a decidedly repulsive saccharine expression. Spencer just smiled and poked her in retaliation:

"Yes, you. And please, drop that disgusting fake sweetness; it's horrible on you," he retorted, causing her to abandon the 'fake sweetness' in favour of a much more genuine expression of childish glee, surprising Reid with her frankness; he hadn't expected her to be so open:

"So, Katrina, I feel like a freeloader here. Is there anything I can do for you in return for your help?"

Her smile faded as she considered his abrupt change of subject, but did not disappear, much to Spencer's delight. Finally she shrugged.

"I don't really mind. After all, the price of the room is the same whether you're here or not. But if you really want to do something for me, I'm quite sure I can think of a way you can repay the favour." It suddenly occurred to Spencer that perhaps allowing her complete freedom in this matter was unadvisable, given how dangerous she was.

"Well, within the limits of the law, okay?" he amended hastily, to her obvious disappointment. He thought her resulting pout was rather cute, if a little uncharacteristic.

"Spoilsport. Alright then, we should go to sleep now, it's very late," Katrina suddenly suggested,

"A-right. Good night," Spencer yawned, waving to his companion as she stood. She nodded at him, stifling a yawn of her own, and then disappeared into her bedroom.

The next morning, Reid was awoken by the sound of a text message. He groaned and forced one groggy eye open to read it; it was Hotch, telling him to come to the BAU ASAP. He groaned again, turning over and snuggling into the couch, reluctant to get up just yet. He was unaware that Katrina had walked in, but faintly registered her picking his phone up and reading the message. After she replaced it by his head, she yanked the covers off him with unnecessary gusto, causing the sleepy man to yelp pitifully and curl up. She was unmoved, however, and simply dragged him up and set him upright near the table. Spencer glared at her blearily.

"Good morning to you too," she smirked, composed as usual, but he noticed she looked slightly dishevelled as well, and had bed hair, which he found exceedingly amusing. He grunted in response, but decided to speak to her despite her manhandling of his person so early in the morning. _I'm such a forgiving man._

"There was no need to be so cruel to wake me up, you know," he told her matter-of-factly.

"It was more effective than being kind, though, wasn't it? By the way, you weigh less than I do. You should eat more," was her dry response, "I take it you have a case?"

Spencer nodded, too tired to waste energy on words, and accepted the proffered mug of coffee. _I swear the insufferable woman lives on the stuff,_ he thought fondly. She sighed:

"I suppose I'll have to come too then. Get ready, we have to leave soon."

_BAU headquarters_

Katrina and Spencer barely made it on time, and rushed into the conference room just as everyone else was sitting down. Their joint arrival prompted sly smirks to appear on the team's faces, most notably Rossi, who didn't even try to hide his amusement. Reid valiantly tried to fight the self-conscious flush spreading across his cheeks, but to no avail; he gave up with a sigh, pulling out a seat. Katrina was, predictably, as cool as a cucumber, a fact which was noted with some resentment by her now crimson-faced friend. However, before the teasing could begin, Hotch interrupted the light-hearted moment with his "business-face."

"Alright, we're all here now. We have a child kidnapping in New York. This one doesn't look good; NYPD think this unsub may be responsible for the rape and murder of 3 other kids," he flicked the remote at the screen, revealing horrifying images of the dead children. Garcia yelped and violently twisted away, Reid, Blake and JJ shuddered, and Rossi winced and averted his eyes, his gaze landing on the assassin, who was sitting across from him. Her expression was no longer blank as she gazed intently at the pictures, her jaw clenched. Rossi felt relieved at this display of humanity; it was good to see she did have some remnants of a normal morality.

JJ spoke up first: "So, it looks like the unsub has a type – all the children have dark hair and eyes, and all are between the ages of 10 and 12..."

"The second was female though," Blake added, "so he's not so preferential he limits himself to one gender. That's not very common, is it?"

"No, it isn't; statistically speaking, about 9 in 10* preferential offenders have strict types," Reid replied. (* I'm just making this up – I have no idea what the statistics on such offenders are)

"We'll need to be at our best for this one, so I expect you all to concentrate even more than usual. Alright, we'll meet on the jet in 30," was Hotch's cheerful contribution.

_On the jet_

Reid made his way to the coffee bar, already feeling tired. He had been assigned the geographical profile again, as none of the other team members had the required understanding of the algorithms he used, but he couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed that Hotch seldom allowed him into the field unless he was unlikely to meet the unsub. He hoped his lessons with Katrina, or indeed her mere presence, would improve the situation, as any ordinary unsub would be hard-pressed to survive an encounter with the assassin. JJ and Hotch were to liaise with the NYPD, while Blake had been assigned to help him with the geographical profile. Rossi was to visit the dump sites with Katrina, for which Reid envied him. His childish musings were interrupted by a sharp jab to the ribs from none other than the beautiful assassin.

"Earth to Reid. What's wrong? You didn't even notice I was in front of you," she asked, watching with satisfaction as he rubbed his side.

"Nothing, I'm just tired," he replied wearily, blindly reaching for a cup. She watched him impassively for a few moments, then snorted and crossed her arms, wearing a shrewd expression:

"You're annoyed at your task. I don't blame you, it sounds positively mind-numbing," she drawled, then her eyes narrowed, and her expression became unreadable again, "you have to do this often, don't you?"

Spencer couldn't believe he'd been figured out so quickly. _This woman is really scary sometimes..._ He gave her a noncommittal grunt and busied himself with his coffee, pouring even more sugar than usual. To his relief, Katrina didn't press the matter, but shrugged and brushed past him with a knowing smirk. As he turned to return to his seat, he almost knocked Alex over, but righted them both at the last minute.

"Alex! Jeez, why is everyone sneaking up on me today? Sorry about that," he babbled, frantically checking that he hadn't spilled his coffee. His agitation earned him a smile from the older agent, who just shook her head indulgently:

"It's fine Reid. You're just tired. Late night?" she enquired with a mildly alarming twinkle in her eye.

"Well, yeah, but why do you – oh... Oh! Nonono, it's not what you think! Katrina and I, we're not, we didn't –"

"Relax, Reid, I believe you. You're so much fun to tease; I can see why Morgan does it," she told him with a wink, leaving him to return to his seat, red-faced and grumbling good-naturedly under his breath.

_Last dump site_

Rossi ducked under the yellow crime scene tape criss-crossing the alley, holding it up for Katrina. The stench of blood hadn't faded much, despite the body's removal, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. A sidelong glance at his companion confirmed that she was equally uncomfortable; her nostrils flared and she swallowed, before parting her lips to breathe through her mouth.

"I always get the smelly dump sites," he sighed, trying to break the ice. Katrina glanced at him in amusement, though her smirk didn't quite reach her eyes. The pair walked over to the darkest corner of the alley, where the pavement was dark with barely congealed blood. Rossi quickly scanned the area; very little lighting, easy access from the surrounding maze of side-streets, secluded... it was a wonder the body had been discovered at all. Katrina was evidently thinking along the same lines, for she asked him who had discovered it.

"A homeless man claiming this place is on his turf," came his thoughtful reply.

She swept her gaze around again, then reached into her bag, extracting a torch. Its bright light revealed nothing new save for a clearer picture of the drying mess at their feet. Rossi jerked his left foot away; he'd been standing on some of it. He watched curiously as the assassin bent close to where the child had been, scrutinising the cracks in the ground. The torch's beam swept up the wall, revealing nothing but old bullet holes and what looked like dried vomit. She frowned slightly, leaning closer to gauge how old these marks were, then turned to the FBI agent with a shrug:

"I can't see anything. Is there something you can use to build a profile here?" she asked him.

"Nope. Guess we have to try the first two sites," he replied, hoping they weren't as uncomfortable as this one; his breakfast was threatening to make a reappearance. She gave a small sigh and gestured for him to lead the way.

It occurred to Rossi as they walked towards the car that he should have been the one to take the initiative to look more closely at the surroundings, and he was mildly surprised she had dared to take control of the situation, if only temporarily. _Domineering personality, then. Interesting, though hardly unexpected._ He was pleased with the opportunity to profile the assassin, as the challenge was rather fun, and would be useful in future. Perhaps he'd ask Reid what he thought of her later.

Katrina, on the other hand, was watching him intently, wondering what he was thinking about, but so far she could only guess that he was trying to profile her. She couldn't think what he could have gleaned from their very brief interaction, but the fact that he had evidently managed to find something made her wary. Despite not being a genius, he was clearly still a shrewd opponent. She made a mental note to be more careful around the team, since they were smarter than she'd originally thought.

_Second dump site_

A crowd had gathered in the park, clustering around the police officers, the spectators jostling each other to get a better look at the area, though the body was no longer there. Rossi all but growled in aggravation, and Katrina frowned. This was going to make their job much more difficult. Katrina followed him through the throng, but he noticed that she seemed much less willing to do so for some reason. A journalist had the misfortune of trying to corner her, to Rossi's mingled horror and amusement, and he merely watched as Katrina shoved the interfering woman out of the way with a contemptuous glare. She slipped her hands into her pockets and scowled once she had ducked under the tape, keeping her back to the crowd the whole time.

"Rossi," she growled, "how long is this going to take?"

The agent merely shrugged and looked around. Nothing useful here either, just a significant change in location.

"Agent Rossi!" the assassin's tone was more urgent this time, prompting him to look up at her questioningly.

"I do not like to be the focus of a crowd. Get on with it," she snapped.

"I will take as much time as I need to, thank you very much," he retorted, "catching a murdering paedophile takes precedence over your comfort." She merely frowned at him, but made no further protests, though he noticed with some trepidation that her fist tightened around the hilt of a knife, barely protruding from her pocket. He looked around for a few moments longer, just to drive his point home, then announced that they could leave.

_The BAU's hotel_

The team and Katrina had gathered in Hotch's room, while he assigned their tasks for the following day.

"Dave, you and Katrina go to the first dump site, see if there's anything worthwhile there. After that, come to the police station, and Blake will go with Katrina to the morgue. You and JJ interview the last family, and Reid and I will dig into the case files some more. Any objections?" Nobody spoke up, so Hotch waved them off to their own rooms. Rossi stayed behind.

"Dave. Something wrong?" Hotch enquired, sounding concerned. Rossi shook his head:

"No, don't worry. I noticed you're looking... Tired. TIs the case affecting you?" the older agent asked. Hotch was silent for a while, then seemed to steel himself:

"It's the pictures. I can't stop thinking about Jack, seeing him instead of those children..." his voice sounded strained, and David felt a rush of sympathy for his friend. He assured him that it was perfectly understandable, though he knew Hotch wouldn't be consoled. Still, the team leader would overcome his fear; he always did. Rossi decided a change of subject was in order:

"So... Care to tell me why you paired me up with Katrina today?"

"I thought she'd work well with you. Why? Did she do something?"

"No, not really. I did find something interesting about her though. She effortlessly took control of the investigation at the first site we went to. I didn't even notice until we were walking away actually," he laughed lightly, "but at the second one, there was a crowd. She was really tense, Hotch. She just wanted to get away from there as fast as she could. Didn't even try to take charge, except to insist that we leave as soon as possible. Strange for such a domineering personality, don't you think?"

"Yes... Although, I suppose no assassin would appreciate being publicly scrutinised. It could just be that she felt exposed. Especially since those two, Hansel and Gretel, are apparently after her. That's probably all it is. The fact that she's so dominating is interesting though. It must make her difficult to work with," Hotch replied thoughtfully, "she seems to have taken a liking to Reid, for some reason. Maybe because he's not an alpha male?" he added with a small smile, prompting a laugh from his friend.

"Those two certainly make an interesting pair," Rossi mused, "I haven't seen the kid this relaxed since Prentiss left. She's good company for him, what with her being a genius too and all that."

Hotch grunted in response, understanding "all that" to mean her striking appearance. He gave his nosy friend a sidelong glance:

"Dave, you're not thinking of playing matchmaker, are you? I don't need to remind you that an assassin hardly makes an appropriate lover," he cautioned, his smirk at odds with his serious tone.

"I know, I know. Still, if Reid falls for her, he won't care about such things. That's why he needs us boring old farts to keep him in line," Rossi quipped playfully, before launching into a dramatic exclamation of "Oh to be young and in love!" which earned him a snort and a swat from Hotch.

"Still," Hotch began slowly, "I suppose it can't hurt much to let them work together. They already see each other outside work, anyway. We'll just have to keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn't do anything harmful."

"You really don't like her, do you?" came Rossi's sly enquiry.

"No. Of course not. Morgan' attitude towards her was immature, but I agree with his reasoning. Anyone who kills for profit is despicable. Her beautiful appearance is nothing more than a mask, Dave. Please don't be fooled into forgetting how brutal she is. You saw what she did to Morgan, I would hate to have to punish any more of the team for being careless around her," Hotch told him gravely.

"I'm not fooled. I'm not... but I don't quite dislike her, either. She doesn't strike me as unreasonable, so the others should be fine. I think, if there's one thing this job has taught me, is that there is often a reason for everyone's choices. She can't have had an easy life, to end up as an assassin, when with those looks and those brains of hers she could have become anything she wished. I don't blame you for disliking her though; she goes against everything you've ever believed in," Rossi told his friend soberly. He then yawned, and looked at his watch, realising with a start that it was very late:

"Ah, we should both get some sleep now, otherwise we won't be able to concentrate tomorrow. Good night," he paused in front of the door when Hotch replied tiredly, then hurried to his own room, flinging himself onto the soft bed with a relieved huff.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Many thanks to "freezing" for your review and advice; Hansel and Gretel will reappear soon, don't worry ;)**_

_**WARNING**__**: this chapter contains references to child abuse and emotional trauma. If anyone does not wish to read this, please skip to after Katrina's dream. It should be ok from there. **_

_Katrina's room_

The covers twisted around her legs as she flailed, restricting her frantic movements and heightening her fear. Even by her standards, Katrina was having a bad night. She had slept fitfully until the images of the mutilated children triggered memories buried deep, deep in her mind, untouched and almost forgotten, and her fitful slumber transformed into a full-blown nightmare. Greedy, groping hands materialised in her mind's eye, grabbing at her small body, holding her down as she screamed and kicked in vain. Snippets of dialogue and faint voices echoed around her as each fragment melted into another, each more terrifying than the last, until the vortex of images crystallised into the searing pain of a brand, charring the skin on her left buttock. Whoever was holding it pressed it down harder whenever she struggled or whimpered, so she fought to control her pain, tears of humiliation and disgust running down her cheeks. A thick finger topped with a garishly painted red nail brushed them away:

"This one will be a good earner. Look at those eyes..."

A mocking leer in a woman's face. The small body at her feet shuddered and spat at her, a futile act of defiance. Katrina would eventually learn that resistance only brought pain, hunger and humiliation, while compliance earned food and undisturbed sleep.

The scene changed again, despite a now half-conscious Katrina's attempts to rouse from this nightmare. The small girl smiled as she was praised for her earnings, shame and self-disgust warring with pleasure behind the carefully maintained mask of pride and enthusiasm, as she struggled to remember why this was wrong, why the people from Outside called her filthy, tainted, _sub-human_. The scratching started not long after that, the physical pain a temporary escape from the unbearable rift within her mind.

Two new arrivals provided a more permanent distraction; two boys, twins. Their popularity among the clients rivalled hers, and she reacted to the competition with a disconcerting mixture of relief and annoyance. One of them was always cowering behind his brother, while the other tried to protect him._ His_ bed was next to hers, for lack of space. His dark, almond-shaped eyes never lost that spark of defiance, of _life,_ which she abandoned long ago, and she found herself inexorably drawn to him, seeking what she had lost. That one, the defiant one, was called Jun, she learned. The meek one was Aki.

The images flashed by again, too quickly to offer any sense of chronology: Jun, offering her half his bread ration, Jun, patting her hand while she shuddered and sweated after a nightmare, Jun, sitting on his bed, watching her, illuminated by a lonely ray of moonlight, his dark, dark eyes boring into her soul, re-kindling that fire she believed lost forever. Jun, bursting into the room to find her holding the bloody knife which changed their fates forever. Jun, Jun, Jun Jun Jun Jun Jun Jun. The fragments chased each other frantically until all she could distinguish were emotions; affection, hope, and pain. Such pain, such deep sorrow which wrenched a strangled sob from her lips, and finally, _finally_ jerked her into consciousness.

_**Anyone who skipped the previous part can start reading again from here**_

Katrina bolted upright, gasping for breath and sweating profusely, her eyes hot and prickly but thankfully not wet. _I must not cry. I must _never_ cry. _

She untangled her shaking legs from the covers with sloppy, harried motions, then slid off the bed, crouching against the far wall. Just as she recovered some semblance of outward calm, the grief crashed over her again like a wave. _Jun..._ That name had brought her such misery, the gaping loneliness gnawing at her like acid, just as insidious and corrosive. _Damnit Jun! Just when I think I've managed to recover, you always resurface to taunt me. Selfish to the last, you fucking bastard_, she thought bitterly.

A quick glance at the clock told her it was 3:30 am. Too early or too late to do anything, so she fought the rising nausea which always accompanied her delightful trips down memory lane, and rose, heading to the bathroom to wash her face and drink. The mirror revealed dark, damp patches at her armpits, chest and back, where her sweat had not yet dried. She peeled it off mechanically, and shed her trousers as well, stepping into the shower without bothering to heat up the water first. The biting cold was almost a relief; it shocked her muted senses into awareness again, and the emotional pain subsided, replaced by a bone-deep weariness which had her eyelids drooping. After donning a fresh pyjama, she threw the pillow onto the floor, straightened the covers over and yanked them off the mattress. She would have to sleep on the floor or not at all. The soft mattress was uncomfortably hot, and she did not relish the thought of sleeping in her own sweat anyway. Sighing, Katrina made herself comfortable on the carpet, before dropping into a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep.

Reid knocked cautiously on the door at 7 later that morning; everyone else was either awake or waking up, and he thought it unusual for Katrina to sleep in on the job. When his knock received no response, he knocked louder, before trying the door handle. He frowned. It was unlocked, which was extremely uncharacteristic of the paranoid woman. A stab of worry momentarily piercing his gut, he entered the room slowly. It was dark, and smelled faintly of sweat, which only increased his anxiety.

"Katrina? Are you here? Are you oka-" his question faded on his lips when he noticed her sleeping form on the floor.

"Katrina? Katrina! Wake up!"

She didn't even stir, so he moved closer and crouched next to her shoulder. He tried whispering her name, and she sighed, turning her head towards him. A few strands of long, black hair tickled his fingers. He noticed detachedly that it was not as soft as it looked, and very thick. Spencer gave a half-hearted huff of irritation, but her sleeping arrangements worried him greatly, even though she seemed unharmed. He tentatively reached out and nudged her shoulder gently, which earned him a frown and a small moan.

Encouraged by this reaction, he nudged harder, but she didn't wake. He settled for grabbing her shoulder and shaking her gently, but as his long fingers closed over her shoulder and started squeezing, the assassin gave a violent jerk, blindly grabbing his wrist, twisting his hand off her and pulling him half upright with her, and all but threw the dazed agent across the floor before diving for what Reid now knew to be a kunai, which she withdrew from beneath the bedside table. She was on him in a blur of movement, pinning the frozen man to the floor and straddling him as one of her strong hands grabbed his throat and the other pressed the kunai into his cheek, just under his left eye. Spencer couldn't speak, could barely breathe through the blinding panic and the assassin's tightening hold on his throat. All he could do was desperately try to make eye contact.

Katrina's unfocused gaze abruptly sharpened, and she blinked, before scrutinising Spencer's face, a shocked, haunted expression crossing her face, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. Spencer sighed in relief as the hand on his throat withdrew, and the kunai was sheathed. He glanced up at Katrina uncertainly; she still looked slightly shaken, staring at him with green eyes so full of emotions they were unreadable. Finally she spoke, but it was not what he was expecting:

"What the _hell _were you playing at? I could have killed you, you idiot!" Spencer just gaped at her as she continued to insult him, calling him a "bloody moron" and a "reckless twit" several times. Now that was just unfair, and he glared at her in self-righteous anger:

"I was waking you up, because _someone _overslept! Everybody else is up! How was I supposed to know you'd try to break my wrist and strangle me to death? It's not like that's a normal reaction to being woken up!" he yelled. Katrina looked slightly sheepish, but retorted:

"You should know by now that very few of my reactions are _normal,_" she spat the word out like it had personally offended her, and perhaps it had, but Spencer was too worked up to care. He continued to glare at her as she raised her voice:

"What on earth possessed you to try and shake me awake in the first place? Didn't it occur to you that an assassin would be unlikely to appreciate such a gesture?" she raged, and this last point made Spencer feel a bit foolish, because it really hadn't crossed his mind at all, though now he thought about it, it really should have. Still, he wasn't going to let her win this one:

"No! It didn't! Because your self-control is supposed to be much better than this! You've never acted so violently towards me before stopping yourself quickly! And by the way, my wrist hurts"

This seemed to surprise her, for she glanced down at the afore-mentioned appendage, then curled cold fingers around it gently, lifting it up so she could see it better. She squeezed it lightly, and rotated it firmly but surprisingly gently. When this prompted no further protests from the man lying underneath her, she gave him an exasperated look:

"You'll have some bruising, but it isn't sprained or anything, so there's no need to be dramatic," she told him, her customary drawl making a tentative reappearance, even though she was still somewhat subdued. Mollified and confused by the change, Spencer rolled his eyes.

"Well, that's good to know. Alright, I forgive you for the attempt on my life. Do you think you can get off me now though? If any of the others see us like this they'll start teasing me again," he finished with a smirk.

Katrina's reaction was extremely satisfying; she looked down at where her hips were pressed against his, and where her hand rested on the skinny agent's chest, and her eyes widened comically before she scrambled off him hastily, mumbling a low "sorry."

Reid's complete lack of embarrassment and general flustered babbling was as surprising to him as it was to her, and he was very glad of it. Katrina could be very cute when caught off guard, even though she didn't blush, and he was rather enjoying her surprise, as well as the small sense of power her unguarded reactions afforded him. He could see why everyone liked teasing him now; his reactions must be hilarious. This discovery didn't make it any less uncomfortable for him, though.

Still smiling at Katrina, he picked himself up, dusting off his trousers lightly and straightening his shirt. He had started dressing more formally since Katrina's makeover, and he had to admit that the small change had slightly improved most people's responses to him; the police officers took him a bit more seriously now, and there was less open mocking of his youth and awkward manners.

_This isn't the time to be thinking about such things,_ he scolded himself. _First things first: why was Katrina sleeping on the floor, and why does she still look so uncomfortable?_ He wondered, watching her curiously as she threw the covers and the pillow back on the bed. Sensing his curiosity, Katrina looked up with a glare, clearly telling him to back off. Reid blanched at her obviously foul mood, and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender:

"Okay, okay, I won't ask," he reassured her, earning a grateful grunt and a sigh, "you look awful though," he informed her frankly, examining her face closely and noting the bloodshot eyes above purple skin.

She snorted in amusement at his honesty, and shook her head:

"I feel even worse," she quipped, "I didn't sleep very well, so now I've got a fucking headache."

Reid blinked in surprise at her cussing; she usually spoke in such a refined manner. He mused that it actually sounded rather good coming from her. It felt like she was being less guarded, which pleased him greatly. _And again, this is neither the time nor the place to be thinking about these things. What's wrong with you man?_

Sighing, he strode to the window and opened the curtains, cracking the thin pane of glass open to clear the air, while Katrina just watched him flatly. He frowned at her; her gaze had abruptly become even more guarded than usual now, and the gaping blankness scared him slightly. He cocked his head curiously, hoping to elicit a reaction from the woman, but she only blinked at him numbly and yawned widely, lifting a hand to cover her mouth. When she spoke, her reassuring drawl was back, but Reid's keen scrutiny picked up the strain in her low voice:

"It isn't polite to stare, Doc. I'll be fine. Have the others had breakfast already?"

"Um, yeah... You should get dressed now because we're supposed to be leaving in 10 minutes," he replied suspiciously, not quite willing to humour her and drop the subject. He decided to bring it up later, though, since the case took full priority and her face had adopted a mulish expression, indicating that she refused to talk about what had happened.

Katrina nodded and turned to her suitcase, fishing for some clothes. When she lifted the hem of her T-shirt halfway and turned to send Spencer a meaningful glance, he blushed and hurried out the door, to her great satisfaction.

_First dump site_

Rossi glanced periodically at his companion. The assassin wasn't acting any differently than usual, not that he would know what "usual" was for her, but he noticed she'd applied some concealer under her eyes, which appeared to be more heavy-lidded than he'd ever seen, giving her a lazy, bored expression. He filed this detail away for further examination, then turned back to the task at hand. This dump site was reminiscent of the third, except that it was much more easily discovered. The stench of blood was, thankfully, also absent, given that it was older than the third dump site, so it had already dried. It didn't gain him any further insight into the unsub, though. It was just a dump site, and the perpetrator clearly hadn't lingered after disposing of his victim.

Katrina hung back, letting the profiler do his job. She was too tired to try to interfere, her mind still replaying parts of her nightmare. A sudden shuffling sound further down the alley, followed by a loud "clink" as a metallic object rolled towards the pair snapped the assassin out of her reverie instantly, her eyes scanning the shadows for movement and a kunai in her hand. After a tense pause, she grabbed Rossi and pushed him behind her, having checked that the exit was clear. She carefully stepped towards the source of the noise, keeping her back to the wall, all her senses on high alert. The shuffling sound came again, and Rossi's heart rate shot up, as his nervousness grew. The whole situation was very unnerving, and the tension worthy of a horror film. He kept his eyes on the assassin, her lazy attitude completely forsaken, replaced instead by an animal wariness which had her head swaying from side to side, as if trying to smell their attacker while her free hand hovered near her waist, fingers slightly curved. She abruptly jerked to the left, deflecting something shiny with her blade and adopting a defensive stance.

Rossi's breathing was beginning to become slightly laboured under the influence of the adrenaline coursing through his body, but he held himself completely still so as not to distract the assassin, who had crept forward silently. He could not see her face, but even her back radiated aggression through the tension of her muscles and the tightly controlled movements. He imagined her gaze to be unblinking and hooded with homicidal intent, and felt rather glad to have her on his side. He unholstered his gun anyway, thinking that he'd be damned if he played the defenceless maiden needing protection. His aim was pretty good; if anyone tried to attack him, he could defend himself.

The tension dissipated rather anticlimactically when Katrina bent to retrieve a small, round object from the dirty ground. She turned towards him after shooting a final, suspicious glare behind her, and calmly approached the worried agent. While her demeanour suggested the danger had passed, he wasn't reassured by her thunderous expression.

"What is it?" he inquired, nodding to the object clutched in her left hand. Her right eye twitched, but she relaxed her fingers so he could see. His gasp was echoed by her grim nod and her lips flattened into a tight line. In her palm lay a medallion with an engraving of a manticore etched into its face.

"Hansel and Gretel?" came his fearful question. He scrutinised her face carefully, not knowing what he was looking for, but aware that he had not found it. She held his gaze steadily throughout, her dark green eyes fixed to his brown.

"Yes," she replied neutrally, "it's them. But..." her voice trailed off as her mind sped through possible explanations for why the deadly duo would contact her here, now, of all times, of all places. She concluded that this case was important to them for some reason, and scoffed mentally, ignoring Rossi's curious glances as they walked back to the car. _So far you've gleaned nothing useful from their behaviour. THINK, woman, THINK! What could they possibly want with this case? Even though they're crazy as fuck, even Hansel and Gretel don't kill children... They enjoy torturing people, yes, but they've never shown any interest in children..._

_Why didn't they contact me in Quantico? Why would they come all the way to New York to hand me some medallion? This one isn't any heavier than the first one, and it the engraving is the same too, so they won't have left a message on it. _

She was jerked out of her musings by the painful honking of a horn as Rossi braked hard to avoid some jackass who had ignored a red light. She blinked, and turned to her companion, who was busy cursing the irresponsible driver under his breath.

"I need to speak to Agent Hotchner," she told him bluntly. It wasn't a request or a demand, but sounded more like an order. Rossi narrowed his eyes at her tone, but merely nodded, knowing that the situation was too dire to linger on things like politeness.

_NYPD station, BAU corner_

"Agent Hotchner," Katrina's quiet voice interrupted the team leader while he was rearranging the victims' pictures on the board. He turned to her, surprised that she had ignored Reid, who was working at a table near him. The young genius had barely noticed, but Hotch wondered what could be so important that the assassin ignored her friend to speak to someone she knew hated her. A glance at Rossi, who had hurried in behind her, confirmed his worry. The other man looked very tense and thoughtful, so Hotch waved them towards an empty office further away.

"What is it?" he asked the somber-faced pair. Katrina wordlessly extended her hand, showing him the manticore medallion. His expression instantly became even steelier and more focused, if that were possible, and he raised questioning eyes to the woman's unreadable ones.

"I'm pretty sure it was Hansel. I heard him shuffling about in the alley," she began, "Gretel wouldn't have given herself away like that. I don't know why the two of them were separated, but it isn't a good sign. I still don't know why they followed us to New York just to give me this. It seems unlikely. You and your team have to be on alert from now on, and you should check on Agent Morgan," she added, "hospitals are very easy to sneak into. If they want to harm your team, they will probably start with him."

Hotch and Rossi stared at her, before nodding to each other. Hotch spoke up:

"We won't tell the team today; I don't want them distracted. But I will make sure none of them spend too much time outside the police station. Katrina, you keep an eye on everyone, in case they decide to show up again."

His brisk orders prompted a smirk from her as she remembered how disconcerted the team leader had been the first time he had tried to give her an order. _He's certainly a natural leader, it's no wonder he learns fast. Well, so long as he doesn't give me unnecessary orders, I suppose it's fine to obey. _

The team, except for Reid, who was totally engrossed in his work, noticed the assassin's watchful presence throughout the rest of the day, but didn't think that much of it since Katrina made sure to be as unobtrusive as possible. She spent more time watching Reid, though, since the genius was unaware of his surroundings and therefore more vulnerable. Hansel and Gretel didn't reappear, however, which did little to reassure her, since she had not expected them to make a move again so soon.

Staring absent-mindedly at the gruesome photographs on the board, Katrina had a sudden epiphany, punctuated by a very eloquent exclamation of: "Fuck me!"

_Gretel is by no means stupid, she would have guessed that I suffered some sort of sexual abuse before I was recruited, like most of us, anyway. The conniving bitch thinks she can destabilise me by making me even more paranoid during this case! Clever, Gretel... very clever. But reminiscing about the good old days of prostitution isn't quite enough to unhinge my mind again, even with the added pressure you're supplying... _

Reid had looked up from his calculations at his friend's crude exclamation, and was now watching her with mingle amusement and nervousness as a very cruel smirk spread across her face. His fascination increased when the assassin snickered softly to herself, evidently enjoying whatever thoughts she was having. The fact that she was doing all this while staring at photographs of dead, mutilated children should have worried him more, but he didn't think she was the type to torture children, so he ignored it.

He laughed when she realised she was being watched, her expression morphing into vague amusement and surprise.

"Care to tell me why you're staring at dead children and laughing with a smirk on your face?" he asked her, playfully imitating her signature drawl. She smirked at him triumphantly:

"I have just unravelled our dear enemy's motivations. Being a genius really does have its perks, even in my line of work, you know."

Her enigmatic answer frustrated him, but Reid decided to drop the matter until later, and told her so:

"This conversation isn't finished. I want to know about it later," he warned.

Her response was as irritating as ever, consisting merely of a scoff and a shrug as she walked away.


	10. Chapter 10

_Katrina's room_

Katrina was scheming. Not for the first time, she felt grateful for her formidable intellect, which afforded her the exhilarating satisfaction of thinking extremely fast and still coming up with good ideas. She hummed contentedly while her mind whirred at a break-neck pace, thinking of all the possibilities for retaliation against Hansel and Gretel. She could separate herself from the BAU, for instance, and hunt down the rogue assassins herself. No, that idea was quickly discarded; too predictable. She had a reputation for unpredictability to live up to, after all, and catching her opponents unawares was always a source of amusement. How about simply doing nothing? It might provoke them into revealing themselves, but really, she could do without the taunting about being weak and cowardly. Not to mention they would up their game and go after the team much more insistently. The thought of having to do surveillance on all of the agents' homes made her wince. _Not happening if I can avoid it._ And her odd friendship with Reid was really too obvious; Gretel would be on him like a leech on an open wound, and most likely do irreparable damage to the vulnerable agent before she could intervene. Gretel had always been good at torture- it was one of the advantages of being insane.

The assassin sighed. It was really difficult to deal with threats when she had so many weaklings to protect... Maybe what she needed was backup. Another person who was capable of defending themselves properly. She smiled slowly. Now _there _was an idea. All she had to do was find somebody the psychotic pair couldn't get to until it was too late. She frowned, considering her list of useful contacts. Most of them had close ties to Hansel and Gretel and all the others, so they were definitely out of the question. _However... Those two might make the cut._ Momo Dawkins and Shark.

_How long has it been since I last thought about those two? Dear me, reminiscing about the good times? I really _am _getting old. _She mused, lying back on the bed. Memories of Momo's antics forced a snort from the assassin. _I wonder what colour her hair is now..._ The flashy photographer had always been hounding her and trying to snap nude pictures of her. Katrina recalled almost fondly how disconcerted she'd been when faced with Momo's extremely blatant sexual advances. How many times had she told her she wasn't a lesbian? _Those_ memories brought back a flash of annoyance. _Damn woman couldn't take a hint._

Shark, on the other hand, had been much more reserved. She had been teamed up with him on various missions, all those years ago, before she'd become head of her own team. He was only average at close combat and aim, but absolutely brilliant at designing traps and stealth killings. _I could use a second opinion on the situation. _She resolved to get back in contact with the two, very discreetly.

If that didn't work out, she'd just think of something else. There was always a way, it was just a matter of seeing it. Shaking her head at her own optimism, Katrina pulled out her work phone and a spare sim card she'd stolen as a precaution. Time to make a few calls.

A few hours later, Reid made a cautious appearance, as she'd known he would. She had recognised his steps outside her door, and took great pleasure in unbalancing the young genius by telling him to come in just as he raised a fist to knock. He looked so bemused when he did come in that she sniggered lightly.

"Doctor Reid. To what to I owe the pleasure?" Katrina drawled, marvelling at how relaxed she was feeling. That didn't mean she was going to answer his questions, though.

"I told you to call me Spencer," he began unexpectedly, but disappointed her by immediately moving on to much more predictable lines of questioning:

"Well, anyway, I wanted to talk about this morning, and also about why you were smiling at pictures of dead children this afternoon," he told her straightforwardly, evidently not having the patience to try and manipulate the information out of her that night. Again, Katrina found herself disappointed; she enjoyed a good verbal and mental spar. Unfortunately for Spencer, Katrina's inexplicable and highly unusual good mood was making her feel mischievous, for lack of a better word. Consequently, she resolved to be as uncooperative as possible just for the pleasure of provoking her unlikely (and wholly unexpected) friend.

Misjudging her little smile and relaxed body language, Spencer allowed himself to relax as well. _You were worried for nothing, you dummy. Katrina is probably going to make you feel stupid for making such an unnecessary fuss. _He missed the predatory gleam in her eyes as she noticed his guard lowering.

"Well, I know it's a bit of a personal question, but, um, why were you sleeping on the floor?" Spencer enquired hopefully. Katrina just gave him an innocent stare:

"Is there any reason why I shouldn't sleep on the floor?"

"Well, no, but you have to admit it's a little strange," he frowned.

"We all have our little habits," she replied airily, "shall I try to find out what yours are?"

Spencer quickly backtracked, alarmed by the predatory smirk adorning the woman's face as she leaned forward:

"No! I – I don't have any weird habits, b-but you shouldn't pry!" he stammered, and faltered once he realised he'd walked straight into a trap, and groaned in frustration. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! _His realisation was confirmed by Katrina, who stalked towards him on the bed, leaning in so her face was closer to his; not close enough to be intimate, but definitely in his personal space. He gulped discreetly:

"Oh, _really? _I shouldn't pry into your habits, hmm? You do know what a hypocrite is, don't you, _Doc?"_

He glared at her, utterly unaffected by her seductive voice and features, to her considerable delight. She pointedly skipped over this last detail, attributing it to her strange mood.

"Katrina," Reid snapped, his irritation only increased by the woman in question's wide-eyed and entirely fake expression of innocence:

"Yes?"

"You're winding me up just for the hell of it, aren't you?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," she batted her eyelashes at him, earning a scowl which only made her grin widen.

"You were sleeping on the floor, the room smelled of sweat, and you almost killed me when I woke you up! Which part of that is normal?" Reid insisted furiously. _Ah, he's so much fun when he's angry_, she thought amusedly.

"Which part of me is normal, Doc? I _am _abnormal, so it follows that my habits should be so as well, hm?" she sat up, distancing herself from him slightly, to his relief; her warm breath on his face had been a bit distracting.

"Katrina, I know that, but I was worried! It's the sort of thing people do when they've just come back from years of imprisonment, or something equally horrible!" the young doctor exclaimed, causing her smile to falter, and she removed her hand from his vicinity. Katrina was quick to cover up the slip in her expression, but Spencer had been watching for it and noticed. He smirked at her triumphantly, but his elation was short-lived, because the thought of her having lived in those conditions at some point was as painful as it was likely.

"You worry for nothing, _Spencer,_" his surprise at hearing his name gave her little satisfaction as she pushed back the memories, "I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself," the memories were safely locked away now, "unlike you, I might add," she breathed, once again in his personal space. Spencer returned her heavy-lidded stare unblinkingly for once, understanding that she was testing him again. For what, he had no idea, but apart from PE, there had never been a challenge he hadn't been able to overcome. He knew he had passed when the dangerous, calculating gleam left her eyes, replaced by mirth.

Katrina smiled at Spencer, knowing he hadn't meant to aggravate her. She wanted to annoy him a bit more now, though, so she waited until he spoke again. He glanced at her lazily from beneath girlishly long eyelashes:

"You're a really exasperating woman, Katrina."

"Stop, you're making me blush," she deadpanned, her face perfectly straight.

Spencer burst out laughing at that, any left-over tension immediately dissipating. Katrina blinked, mildly surprised at his reaction, but found herself echoing his wide smile. When he stopped laughing, she reached over and ruffled his hair, causing him to yelp and try unsuccessfully to smooth it back down:

"Hey! What was that for?"

"Your hair is funny. It looks straight but when I mess it up it sticks up all over the place; now you look like a family of hyperactive sparrows tried to make a nest out of it," she replied impishly, stopping just short of sticking her tongue out.

He huffed at her improbable imagery, then proceeded to comb out the lank brown strands with his fingers under her curious gaze. Naturally, this only made them stick out even more, so he resigned himself to looking like a scarecrow, shoulders slumping in defeat. Katrina was so delighted by the comical image he made that she forgot herself and snorted.

His embarrassed glare only heightened her mirth, and soon she was laughing so hard that she nearly fell off the bed and into Spencer's incredulous arms. He frowned at her; surely his hair wasn't _that _funny... Her near hysteria, given this morning's events, was more alarming than amusing. He opened his mouth to ask if she was alright, but the words died on his lips and he stared at the assassin in shock when he lifted his gaze, for she had begun to cry.

Fat tears rolled hard and fast down her cheeks as her expression contorted into one of pain, then shock. The tears didn't stop, even when her expression returned to a fairly normal one, the only sign of her feelings being the slightly wide eyes. She reached up and touched one of the salty tracks with a finger, rubbing the moisture as if to ascertain whether it was real. When her tongue poked out to mechanically lick away the salty liquid from the corners of her mouth, and her eyes adopted a stony, shuttered expression, Spencer's heart broke for her. He turned away, not wanting to make her think he pitied her. He knew that would not be appreciated at all. Not knowing how to act, and cursing his abysmal social skills, he chose to remain silent until she either recovered or kicked him out of the room.

A short while later, she told him in a subdued but otherwise normal voice:

"You can turn around now, Doc."

He did so quickly, waiting for her to kick him out. She said nothing, however, and merely studied his face with a mildly curious expression, so he did the same. Her eyes were a bit red, and her cheeks still a bit damp, but her nose had not changed colour, nor had her breathing changed, and overall there was no trace of the deep sorrow he had glimpsed before she had realised she was crying.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked, slightly worried by her continued silence. She studied him intently for a moment longer before replying, a hint of a question in her voice:

"Not really, actually."

"Oh," He didn't quite know what to say to that.

Katrina finally waved away the tension with a lighthearted:

"I'd forgotten that crying made my skin itchy"

He just had to laugh at the ridiculous comment, reassured that she was fine. He smirked as he realised he could ask her about the "fuck me!" from that afternoon.

"So, are you going to tell me why you yelled "fuck me!" to the entire police station?"

She stared at him, lip twitching, before deciding to answer:

"I realised what Hansel and Gretel, or rather just Gretel, are up to," she told him, a wide smirk crossing her features. He smirked back; anything that made her this happy couldn't be good for their opponents.

"She sent Hansel to give me a second medallion today. I couldn't figure out why she chose to act now, then I realised she was trying to destabilise me by putting me under pressure. Evidently she thought that this case would damage my self-control, so if she gave me that push over the edge, she'd win. She was wrong, obviously; I'm still sane, and now I've got a card to play," there was that malicious delight again. Spencer felt pretty sure Gretel was going to suffer a slow, vicious end by Katrina's hand.

"So, I'll be contacting some people who can help me corner them, given that protecting you lot is too time-consuming for me to do it properly."

"Who are you going to call?"

"You don't need to know," she replied smugly.

Spencer dropped the question, reasoning that whatever the assassin was planning, it was good enough to make her look like the cat that caught – and gleefully disembowelled – the canary. He merely smiled at her, shaking his head fondly.

She smiled back, and then tugged him towards her so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He twisted around, giving her a confused look, but she shushed him and ran her fingers lightly through his hair, smoothing it down and returning it to a more normal-looking state. His eyelids instantly drooped; he _loved _having his hair played with. His whole posture sagged in his relaxation, and he gave a contented sigh, which prompted an amused huff from the woman behind him.

She continued her impromptu massage even after his hair had returned to normal, and imagined that if Spencer were a cat, he would be purring. It was entertaining to see him in this unguarded, blissful state, and she wondered sadistically how long it would take him to react to an embarrassing situation. Usually he would instantly begin to stutter and flush a most interesting shade of red, but Katrina wanted to find out how close she could get before that happened while the agent was so completely distracted.

A mischievous smirk adorning her face once again, she began to inch closer to his back, never stopping the soothing movement of her fingers. Spencer didn't move, but sighed again in pleasure when she rubbed a particularly sensitive spot, near his temple. She laughed softly in triumph; she was now so close to him that she could feel his body heat on her chest, yet he didn't so much as flinch. Slowly, carefully, she pressed herself to his back, which didn't prompt any reaction either. Now _that _was surprising. _Let's see how much further I can take this. _

"Spencer," she breathed against his neck, purposefully rubbing that sensitive spot he seemed to like so much earlier, which distracted him enough that his only response was a sleepy "hmm." Her expression now positively childlike in her delight, she decided to raise the bar a bit further. _Careful now, don't overstep the boundaries _too _much._

Slowly, deliberately, she raked her nails across his scalp, while blowing lightly on his neck. Her eyes widened slightly when he shuddered, his back rubbing against her chest as he did so. _Ah, maybe it's time to stop now._ She surreptitiously checked the front of his trousers, feeling both relieved and slightly peeved that he wasn't aroused. _What the – why should I want him to be aroused? It's really been too long since I got laid. Still, he's got a beautiful woman pressed up against his back, and he doesn't react at all... Is he gay?_

Her fingers slowed their movement, then stopped altogether. Katrina waited for his reaction, having established that when he was too relaxed he didn't react to anything at all, and that was no fun. A few seconds passed, then Reid's eyes shot open as he registered the feel of Katrina's warm body pressed into his, her fingers in his hair and her face close to his neck.

"Wha-!"

He jerked away from her so violently that he inadvertently elbowed her in the ribs, but she ignored the dull pain in favour of watching his face. She was not disappointed; he was reinventing a whole new shade of puce as he struggled to process what had just happened, stuttering ineffectively as he almost forgot to breathe in his mortification. Delighted, Katrina smiled at him contentedly:

"Well, that was interesting," she said calmly, to Spencer's growing fury.

"INTERESTING? You just wanted to see how I would react!" he roared, his face now red for a different reason, "you don't do that to people, Katrina! It was cruel of you; you knew how embarrassed I'd get!"

She blinked in surprise; she hadn't expected this much anger, although, now that she thought about it, it made sense. A lot of people must have enjoyed taunting him just for fun, something she could entirely sympathise with; he was too much fun to tease. She decided it was too late to feign innocence:

"Well, I didn't think you'd be quite _that _distracted," she drawled, entirely unapologetic, "I thought you'd react much faster. I just wanted to see."

Evidently this had been the wrong thing to say, she noted with a small sigh, as Reid's flush receded, only to be replaced by a fierce scowl. _Damn, I really suck at interacting with normal people. Jun was never this touchy._

"It's not okay, Katrina," Spencer scolded, not appearing mollified in the least by the woman's frank admission. This caused her to frown slightly and cock her head as she tried to figure out what to say. In fact, Spencer forgave her as soon as he saw this reaction, understanding that she honestly didn't see what she had done wrong, and did not seem to have acted out of malicious intent. Still, he wasn't about to just let her off the hook. He decided to continue looking angry for a while longer, and return the favour; he was curious as to how she would deal with this, after all. Not trusting his ability to keep a convincing angry face in front of the shrewd assassin, he turned his back to her and crossed his arms. After an uneasy pause, he heard her tentatively try:

"Come on, Spencer, I was joking," he decided that wasn't quite good enough, so he waited. His patience was quickly rewarded:

"I'm sorry...?" came her uncertain statement.

He turned around then, wanting to see her face, and couldn't contain a wide smirk. She looked puzzled and slightly worried, an expression which dissipated all too quickly when she noticed his. She scowled at him playfully, falling back onto the bed as she groaned in defeat.

"I can't believe I fell for that. I'm definitely out of practice," she said mournfully.

"Or I'm just cleverer than you," Spencer quipped. She cracked one eye open in amusement, scoffing at the idea:

"You wish, genius boy," she smirked. He merely shrugged.

"I'm not the one who was fooled by my lame acting," he told her primly.

"Shaddup," Katrina scowled, throwing a pillow at his smug face. It connected with a loud thump, but failed to remove the offending smirk. She rolled her eyes.

"So, are you going to stand there all night?"

"What do you mean?" puzzled by her question, Spencer forwent his smug expression.

"Well, it _is _getting pretty late," she pointed at the clock, "so I was asking whether you had anything else to talk about, or whether you wanted to go back to your room now."

Feeling slightly disappointed without knowing why, Spencer boldly replied:

"Neither."

Katrina stared at him suspiciously, sitting up against the headboard. He flushed slightly under her heavy gaze, then turned magenta as he realised how his statement had been interpreted.

"Ah, w-well, I didn't mean what you're thinking! I-I'm sorry if I offended you, I wasn't thinking and -"

Katrina held up a hand, stopping the flood of flustered stammering, and rolled her eyes.

"Even if you had offended me, after showing me so many new shades of red, even I would have forgiven you, silly man," she managed to reassure and insult him at the same time, which, he mused, was pretty impressive. She certainly had a way with words. He flushed again at her next comment, more of a light pink this time, though:

"So, you don't have anything to talk about, but you don't want to go back to your room," she narrowed her eyes at him thoughtfully as he nodded, "then... Do you want to sleep here...?" She finished cautiously. Spencer forgot to breathe as he registered what he had, indeed, implied with his answer. He then asked himself if that was what he wanted, and most importantly _why_. The answer to the first question was yes, but the second continued to elude him. Katrina was certainly gorgeous, but he hadn't really thought about her in a sexual way since their first meeting. He concluded that, yes, he did want to sleep in her room, but not to have sex with her, _as if she would even consider the idea anyway. _He abruptly realised she had been watching him impassively while he had been thinking, and quickly answered:

"Ah, well yes, I mean, if that's ok with you, oth-otherwise I'll just go back to my room, ack, uh, I don't know what –" he was cut off by Katrina's flat stare. He flushed again, but this time he managed to control himself and his speech was normal.

"Sorry. What I meant was yes, I would like to sleep here, but I don't know why I said it. And I'm not coming on to you or anything, either," he finished, a little uncertainly. She smirked:

"Well thank goodness for _that_; you weren't doing a very good job of seducing me."

He resorted to smiling and rolled his eyes.

"I'll go get my pyjama then," he asked, and she nodded, waving him away.

When he returned, she had also changed into a loose grey T-shirt and shorts. The shorts were a bit too short and tight for any red-blooded man's comfort, Reid mused, but the outfit wasn't that revealing after all. She slid gracefully under the covers before turning and watching him expectantly, to which he replied with an intelligent:

"Huh?"

Katrina shook her head, and patted the free spot next to her:

"Get in, you twit, I'm getting cold here."

Spencer sheepishly obeyed, making himself comfortable while she turned off the light.

"Good night," he whispered, which must have surprised her, for she snorted slightly before replying in kind.

_This has got to be the weirdest, most impulsive thing I've ever done,_ was Spencer's last thought before weariness won the battle with his consciousness.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Hello, sorry for taking forever to update yet again; I seem to suffer from chronic writer's block. I'm pleasantly surprised that there are still people reading this fic actually, so thank you very much, and I will try to update more regularly **_____

_Katrina's room (again)_

Katrina stared at the glowing digits of the alarm clock, willing herself to go back to sleep and failing spectacularly. Although she had slept better than she had in weeks, the glowing green numbers indicated that it was barely three in the morning, and she mused irritably that it was really far too early to get up. Beside her, Spencer shifted and murmured in his sleep, as if sensing her irritation. She froze, not wanting to wake him up, but relaxed when his breathing deepened again, and turned to face him. She couldn't really see anything, but stared intensely at the oblivious agent all the same. She wondered briefly what on earth she had been thinking when she let him sleep in her bed. _You weren't thinking at all is more like it. _She sighed again. Now she was talking to herself. Great. The assassin had to admit that she would let Reid sleep beside her for as long as he wanted though, just so she could finally rest properly; her slumber had been deep and dreamless that night, and she felt refreshed and pleasantly fuzzy. She had forgotten what that felt like.

Giving up on sleep for the moment, she picked up one of her phones, rolling out of bed carefully, and dialled Shark's last known number. She decided to deal with Momo when she was more alert; while the flamboyant woman was usually a reliable asset, her loud, exuberant manner tested the boundaries of Katrina's patience and self-restraint, and she didn't really want to spoil the peaceful silence of the room.

To her surprise, Shark's distinctive voice answered almost immediately. Katrina frowned, fearing a trap; it was unusual, to say the least, for an assassin to keep the same number for more than a few years, and it had been over a decade since she'd last had contact with the man. His soft voice sounded mildly annoyed at her continued silence, and she waited until he was about to hang up to speak.

"Shark."

"Yeah, who's asking?" his pleasant American twang conveyed suspicion, which made her smirk.

"An old friend. Guess who."

His irritated exhale made her smile widen; baiting Shark was almost as fun as teasing Spencer, if only because she used to be one of the only people who could get under the normally implacable man's skin. She could almost hear the cogs turning in his brain as he struggled to place her voice.

"No... It can't be. Katrina?"

"Well, that took you long enough. Miss me?" she quipped. A quiet _puff_ signalled his version of a disbelieving snort. Yep, it was him all right.

"M'lady, do ya know what time it is?" Katrina grinned at the old nickname.

"Nope. It's about three in the morning over here though," she offered, knowing he'd be narrowing down her possible location from that piece of information,

"So what time is it over there?"

"Early," came his curt reply. She rolled her eyes,

"Paranoid, much? I'm not after you, so you can relax," Katrina informed him, her playful tone gaining an edge of steel which had him swallowing his reflexive apology and scowling.

"What do you want," he enunciated through his clenched jaw, annoyed at the other assassin's ability to make him cower despite how many years had passed.

"I have a problem with a job. How soon can you leave?" Katrina dropped all pretence of a friendly call, her tone all business.

"Finally bitten off more than you can chew? Depends. I'll be requiring extra compensation for the short notice, you know," his tone was the playful one now, and she could hear his smirk.

"Aw, not willing to do a favour for an old friend?"

"Hell no," came his amused retort, "not for you, anyway. If I give you a finger, you'll take the arm, so to speak. Don't think I've forgotten."

She laughed lightly, remembering the incident in question:

"An apt metaphor. Well, I wasn't really expecting you to work for free, but I thought I'd ask anyway. You will be compensated. But I do need you to get here fast."

"Well, you're in luck then; I jus' finished an assignment last week, so I'm free. Where d'ya want me?"

"New York," she told him curtly. His contemplative silence only lasted a few seconds as he tried to figure out whether she actually was in New York. Apparently he was too tired to waste energy thinking about it.

"Fine," he replied, "I can be there tomorrow afternoon. You'll still be around by then?"

Katrina smiled:

"You know me too well, my friend. But yes, I will be around. It's not like old times anymore," she finished ruefully.

"Ain't that the truth. Right, I'll leave ya to it then," Shark told her before hanging up.

Katrina leaned against the bathroom door in silence for a moment. She hoped Shark would stay loyal; he had used to be as close to a friend as anyone except Jun, back then, but times changed, and she couldn't afford to lower her guard on account of their past partnership. As she walked back into the bedroom, she found that Spencer had rolled over halfway onto her side of the bed, one arm extended under her pillow.

Katrina sighed. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately, especially where the young genius was concerned. She hoped she wasn't becoming maudlin with age. She shouldn't get too close to Spencer, though. This strange friendship was bound to cause trouble for both of them sooner or later, and while she felt sure that she would survive such "trouble", she worried about him. She should distance herself; it was the right thing to do, the _best_ thing to do, for both of them. _I should, but I don't want to, _she realised. Katrina squeezed into the free space next to the man in question, and gently nudged him away from her. He sighed and frowned slightly, his face illuminated by the digits of the alarm clock. The shadows accentuated barely-there lines on his skin, making him seem older than his years, which was an odd sight. Katrina noted with renewed amusement that what she could see of his hair looked like a rat's nest once again. She considered the question of their friendship again. _Bah, since when have I struggled over ethical dilemmas of any kind? _She asked herself, _he's my friend now, and I'll deal with the consequences later. I don't do self-sacrifice, not even for people I actually care about. _This last thought left her feeling oddly empty, as if she should have felt something, but hadn't. Shrugging, Katrina scooted closer to Reid and insinuated a leg between his with some difficulty due to the tangled cocoon he'd made of the sheets, deciding that embarrassing him in the morning would be a fitting revenge for having stolen the covers and invaded her side of the bed. The warmth of his lanky frame was apparently enough to lull her to sleep, as her eyelids started to feel leaden within a few seconds, and she drifted into sleep soon after.

Reid was the first to wake, just before seven, and as Katrina had predicted, once the fog of sleep had lifted from his brain, enabling him to notice their respective positions, he flushed and frantically tried to disentangle himself with limited success. He wrestled free of the sheets, but Katrina's leg remained firmly planted between his own, her thigh pressing against an uncomfortable part of his anatomy. He lay frozen, praying for her to wake up soon because he really didn't want to risk a repeat of the previous morning. As he listened to her light, even breathing, he mused –rather pointlessly – that he'd never realised legs could be so heavy. He tried again to shift away from the sleeping woman, but this move was as futile as his previous attempts, and only served to heighten his discomfort as it caused his crotch to rub against her thigh. Thankfully, the thought of her reaction if she discovered his erection when she did wake up was terrifying enough to dispel most of his sudden and unwanted arousal.

After a few minutes of just lying there, Spencer was bored. He glanced at Katrina's face. Her breathing hadn't changed, indicating that she was unlikely to wake up on her own anytime soon. He tentatively whispered her name, which garnered no reaction until he said it louder, but her expression quickly returned to the previous peaceful one as sleep tightened its hold on her once again. Rolling his eyes in exasperation, he decided to forgo his dignity and pushed his leg against her hip, trying to dislodge her. He was more successful this time, so he stoically ignored the renewed tingle of pleasure in his groin in favour of removing her leg from his person. A stronger nudge removed her thigh from between his, and he smiled triumphantly. Unfortunately, it seemed that the movement had woken her up, and as he looked up, flushed and breathing a bit heavier than he should have, his gaze met a bleary but amused green-eyed stare. The left corner of Katrina's mouth tilted upwards in a satisfied smirk as she noted his flush.

Spencer scowled at her expression and grunted: "Morning."

"Good morning," she replied with a slight lilt, "are you always this cheerful in the morning?"

He didn't dignify this with a response and rolled his eyes. Her voice was rough and deepened by sleep, and she had bed hair again, which rather undermined her attempt to destabilise him, although she'd succeeded at _that _quite literally in her sleep. He told her so in a disgruntled voice as he sat up and stretched, to which she retorted primly that he deserved it for stealing her space and bed sheets. As Spencer reluctantly dragged himself off the warm mattress, Katrina tried to sit up but slumped back onto her pillow, sighing deeply as she threw an arm over her eyes to shield herself from the light filtering through the curtains.

Spencer chuckled at this:

"I thought you were a morning person," he teased, grinning when she groaned and asked for coffee.

"Come on, get up. We've got work to do; we have to be more efficient than yesterday if we want to catch this guy," he reprimanded the assassin, who glared half-heartedly but complied surprisingly obediently. Reid envied her grace even when half-asleep.

A quick glance at the clock informed Reid that they were going to be late _again_, so he scurried furtively across the corridor to his room and dressed in record time.

_NYPD_

Half an hour after Hotch had started attributing the team's tasks for the day, wearing a thunderous expression due to their lack of progress, Katrina walked in silently, taking a seat behind Blake so as not to attract attention to her tardiness. Reid hid a grin; evidently his instructions to hurry had fallen on deaf ears. Typical.

This time Katrina was to supervise all the team members alternatively, which would keep her very busy, running around to keep track of where everyone was and make sure they were all safe. She supposed this was punishment for being late, but approved of the team leader's relative subtlety in dishing it out. It amused her more than anything else, actually, to Hotch's well-concealed irritation.

JJ and Rossi's visit to the morgue yielded some results, the coroner informing them that the children had been killed approximately 24 hours after being taken. JJ shuddered; they had been tortured during that time. Katrina joined them just as they were gratefully exiting the building to report to Hotch, the bright sunlight helping to dispel the agents' disquiet. She took one look at their faces and asked what they had found out, looking mildly disgusted at Rossi's terse reply.

JJ's phone rang before anyone could comment on the assassin's reaction. It was Hotch, telling them that Reid had established a geographical profile, and that they should meet at the police station again to discuss a preliminary profile for the Unsub. The agents glanced at each other, relieved to be finally making some progress; this guy was going down if it was the last thing they did. Privately, Katrina seethed at the reminder of her own past, and resolved to eliminate the perpetrator if she ever got within striking range. Her eyes adopted a dangerous gleam at this happy thought, which prompted Rossi, whose newest hobby appeared to be watching her, to suppress a smirk, guessing that the paedophile was in grave danger.


	12. Chapter 12

_NYPD_

While the team briefed the assembled police officers on their preliminary profile, Katrina slipped out to patrol the perimeter and call Momo. Her number had been more difficult to acquire than Shark's, surprisingly enough. She idly wondered if Shark should feel ashamed at being less secretive than a civilian photographer. Said photographer answered after several rings, just as the assassin was about to hang up. Her loud, cheerful "Y'ello" managed to instantly grate on Katrina's nerves.

"Is this Miss Dawkins?" Katrina purposefully used the formal address Momo hated so much.

"Miss Dawkins is my sister. I'm Momo. Who's this?" the photographer's irritation was music to the assassin's ears, and she smirked contentedly.

"Are you alone?"

"Now I am._ W_ill you finally tell me who you are? I haven't got all day," came her exasperated reply.

"What, you don't recognise my voice even after you declared your undying love for me?" Katrina countered mockingly,

"KATRINA!" Momo squealed excitedly, prompting the assassin to grimace and hold the phone away from her ear, "why hello gorgeous, it's been so long! I thought you'd forgotten about me," her pout was audible, and Katrina rolled her eyes.

"Yes, well, much as I would like to have forgotten, it's not possible to erase anyone's memories. Now, I need you to come to New York ASAP," the assassin's tone was dry and mocking, but the other woman remained unruffled, to her great annoyance.

"Of course! Anything for you, my love. I can be there this afternoon. Meet at the airport, as per usual?"

"Yes. See you then," Katrina hung up without waiting for a reply.

The team exited the small conference room just as she was pocketing the phone with a grimace, which prompted a few curious looks, but thankfully no comments. She turned to Hotch.

"Agent Hotchner, I need to go to JKF this afternoon. Before 3 pm," she announced abruptly, watching him closely. The twitch at the corner of his eye was deeply satisfying.

"Today?" he asked, his tone deceptively bland. She nodded.

"We are going to stake out the areas the Unsub is most likely to operate in today. You have to be there to make sure nobody interferes," he told her with a frown, to which she replied that it was still mid-morning and she needed to go to the airport for her other task.

A few curious officers shook their heads in confusion, but moved on. With a sigh and a glance at Rossi, who shrugged, Hotch nodded his assent, secretly hoping Hansel and Gretel would leave them alone. That time with Dave was too close for comfort.

_1 hour later, in the streets of NY_

A tall woman leaned against a lamppost, seemingly absorbed in the screen of her phone. Her face was difficult to distinguish underneath a fashionably crooked fedora. Her eyes were therefore invisible as they flicked between a few non-descript cars parked on the relatively busy road, taking in the movement of their occupants and the passers-by. Katrina stifled a yawn and expertly flipped a Tetris block around on the screen of her smartphone. Hooray, new High Score.

She carefully suppressed her foul mood to avoid anger clouding her powers of observation; years of practise enabled her to prevent her emotions from affecting her expression and mind. The irritation and impatience would be released later - perhaps Shark would be amenable to a spar. This thought cheered her up somewhat and she shifted, burying a hand in one of the deep pockets of her faded leather jacket. Her fingers curled around the small knife there, as if to reassure herself that it was still there.

A text from Reid distracted her from her almost-meditation. Still nothing. No shit. She rolled her eyes, replying that she had seen no suspicious activity either. He sent her a bored face, and commented that he liked her hat. She smirked and tilted her head so her mouth was visible to him, writing that flattery would get him nowhere. The comment didn't fool him though, and he knew she was pleased. A glance from Blake put an end to their written conversation, however, and the pair returned to their boredom.

Another two hours later, and Katrina had changed her position five times, and her outfit three, but that remained the most exciting activity of the afternoon. Her latest disguise, a bright red, spiky wig which hid her right eye, coupled with a tight black t-shirt with only one sleeve and baggy trousers, had been the most difficult to change into on the fly. She lounged against a graffiti – covered wall, close to Hotch, Reid and Blake's beaten – up minivan, nonchalantly smoking a cigarette. A glance at her watch revealed that it was time for her to meet Shark and Momo, so she artfully flicked the glowing butt away, and pulled out an empty cigarette pack, frowning as she opened it.

Pretending to only have just spotted the minivan's occupants, she slouched over, rapping on the window to get Hotch's attention.

"Hey, sorry to bother you, but have you got a smoke?" Blake blinked at her convincing American accent, and Hotch held out a cigarette she'd handed to him earlier, which she accepted with a seductive smile.

"All out?"

"You know how it is, I have one, then another, and 'fore I know it, the whole pack's gone."

Hotch smiled and bid her good day, but muttered that she should take Reid with her. She snarled and leaned down again, acting like he'd propositioned her, which made Blake choke on a snort at the unlikely image. She flipped him the finger and hissed that Reid was to leave in 10 minutes and head to JFK airport, terminal 2 arrivals, and wait for her there, before stalking off, lit cigarette dangling from her fingers.

_JFK, terminal 2 arrivals_

Reid walked through the sliding doors, pausing to scan the crowd for any sign of the assassin. As she was nowhere to be seen, he cautiously made his way towards the arrival gates, when strong fingers closed around his bicep. He whirled around and came face to face with his quarry, who was wearing an exasperated expression.

"Hey! Where were you?" he asked,

"I followed you from outside. I presume Hotch wants you to report to him on who I'm meeting here?" she replied drily. He nodded, and her mouth flattened into a grim line.

"It's not safe for you here, so stay close and keep your eyes open," she ordered him gruffly while dragging him through the throng to a pillar near the doors.

"Why? Who are you meeting?" Spencer's interest was definitely piqued, but he tried to curb the eagerness in his voice in the face of her obvious annoyance. She was intimidating like this; gone was the mischievous, teasing woman from the previous days, replaced by a stony-faced, highly strung stranger. She shot him a sidelong glance.

"Some former associates. One is civilian, but ironically enough, she's the one you should worry about most," Katrina punctuated this statement with an arched eyebrow and a vaguely disgusted expression, which made Spencer wonder who on earth this woman could be.

Soon the passengers started to trickle through the gates, and he scrutinised the crowd with interest, trying to spot these "associates." Katrina leaned forward slightly, but her eyes roamed all over the hall. A sandy-haired man suddenly separated from the other arrivals and meandered in their direction. Spencer watched him carefully. He had a pleasant, open face with pale eyes and unremarkable features, and he looked to be slightly shorter than Katrina. His gait was unhurried and purposeful, and he looked leanly muscled; the only clue to his profession.

Spencer turned his eyes to the female assassin. She gave no indication that she'd seen the man, save for a slight shift in his direction. When the man stopped right in front of her, the pair stared at each other impassively, before he graced her with a broad smile and a happy: "M'lady."

Katrina gave him a fond-looking half-smile which reached her eyes, to Spencer's surprise.

"Shark. You look shorter than last time," she teased, left eyebrow raised. Shark raked his eyes over her body before returning his gaze to her eyes with a grin:

"Nah, I'm jus' the same as always. You're the one who grew. What the hell happened to the midget we all knew and loved, huh?"

Katrina laughed as Reid gave a small exclamation of disbelief. Noticing that the assassins' attention was now on him, he smiled sheepishly and turned to her:

"Midget?"

"I used to be very short, you know," her scowl belying her airy tone.

Shark nodded to him, and raised his eyebrows at Katrina; Reid wondered if he couldn't just lift one at a time like she could. She stepped closer to the young genius, and gestured between the men lazily:

"Agent Spencer Reid, meet Shark. Shark is an old associate of mine, as I told you. Reid is an FBI agent," she informed the other man, who lifted incredulous brows, "from the Behavioural Analysis Unit," she added.

"That so?" Shark's expression was thoughtful and assessing as he gave Reid another once-over, "pleased to meet ya," he said pleasantly, extending a calloused hand, which Spencer shook somewhat nervously. The man shot Katrina a "we will talk about this later" look, which was met with a shrug.

"We're still waiting for Momo, by the way," she announced, grinning when Shark's expression morphed into horror.

"What?! Whatcha need Momo for?"

"I'll tell you later," she said firmly, and Reid noted how quickly the other man acquiesced, "oh for heaven's sake! I'm the one she persists in harassing, not you. You have no reason to look like that," she added when Shark's expression remained bleak. He stared at her balefully but didn't comment.

Reid chose this moment to glance over Katrina's shoulder, seeing a tiny but flashy woman striding quickly in their direction. Her platinum blonde hair was very short and slicked back from her forehead, and she wore what appeared to be a shiny black leather unitard. He frowned and started to point:

"Uh, behind you..." Katrina started to turn.

"Wha-mgfffh?!"

Spencer and Shark watched with shocked fascination and resigned horror respectively as the tiny woman grabbed Katrina's shoulder and pulled her down backwards to kiss her full on the mouth as the other woman flailed ineffectively before regaining her balance. A heartbeat passed as Katrina gathered her wits. The tiny woman, who Spencer assumed to be Momo, going by Shark's expression, finally jerked back, wiping blood off her lips, while Katrina straightened up and turned to glare at her.

"Hello my love!" Momo chirped, "As cruel and fiery as always I see!"

Reid was impressed that she wasn't intimidated in the least despite the fact that a furious-looking assassin has just bitten her lips and was currently attempting to prove that looks _could _kill. He was doubly impressed at her temerity since Katrina towered over her, easily two heads taller despite Momo's high heeled boots.

"Momo," she spat, "as nauseatingly cheerful as always." Her sneer only served to brighten the woman's grin, if that were possible.

Shark guffawed: "She got you that time m'lady!"

Katrina only sniffed disdainfully and replied that it was only because she was so short she could barely see her. Momo beamed at her comment. Spencer observed their interactions with mingled apprehension and amusement, but couldn't help feeling a bit left out. Momo glanced at him with interest then, and he took a reflexive step back, fearing her excessive enthusiasm. Katrina noticed this and stepped between them, to his relief, shielding him with a warning glare in Momo's direction, before nodding towards the exit.

"Let's go. We can finish the introductions later."


	13. Chapter 13

_33 minutes later, in a rented car_

"So," Shark began, taking his eyes off the road to look at Katrina, "you gonna tell us what you're doing working for the FBI's BAU?"

Momo made a small exclamation of surprise and turned to Reid, eyeing him suspiciously.

"FBI? _You're _in the Bureau?" she asked him incredulously. Spencer couldn't help but huff, slightly offended by her disbelief, but he was used to this reaction by now. He was gratified when Katrina spun around and fixed the smaller woman with a venomous glare:

"_Doctor _Reid is in the Behavioural Analysis Unit", she hissed, and Momo flinched, "and I'll not stand for any disrespecting of him. You of all people should know better than to judge by appearances."

"It's okay," he interjected hastily, "most people react like you," he told Momo with a small grin, "I'm used to it. So what do you do?"

The tiny woman recovered quickly and grinned at him, extending a surprisingly large hand:

"Momo Dawkins, at your service," she said, "I'm a freelance photographer, one of the best, if I say so myself," she winked.

"Nice to meet you," he replied, thinking she had an oddly limp grip. He withdrew his hand as soon as it was polite to do so. She gave him a shrewd once-over, glancing curiously between him and Katrina, who was watching the exchange with hawk-like intensity.

Shark dispelled the uncomfortable tension expertly, with a friendly smirk and a playful glance in the rear-view mirror:

"Hey now, don't forget about me! My code-name's Shark, and I'm sure you've noticed I'm the most gorgeous person here" he addressed Reid with a slightly hungry smile. Katrina rolled her eyes and jabbed him in the ribs.

"Why don'cha tell us what you're doin' with the Lady here," he prompted, nodding to the other assassin, "as delightful she is, I don't think I need to tell ya that her company's a bit... risky."

Katrina interrupted Spencer just as he was opening his mouth to respond:

"Nice try, Shark, but I'm not _that_ rusty just yet," she told him sternly, and sighed, "how much do you remember about Hansel and Gretel?"

Shark was silent for a long, tense moment, then he grimaced, "Fuck, Reaper, those nut jobs? I know to leave 'em alone if I can help it! What's the FBI's interest in them?"

Katrina stared at him thoughtfully: "So you haven't been in contact with them at all? Nor with any of their connections?"

He frowned, managing to look simultaneously thoughtful and petulant: "Nope, nothing to do with the likes of them. They only take the flashy jobs, anyway..." he trailed off, watching her expression change minutely, before swearing explosively in a language Reid had never heard, "For fuck's sake! They've been sent after you, haven't they? Flashy jobs indeed. No wonder you asked for help."

Beside Reid, Momo paled:

"Katrina's being hunted?" she asked, sounding worried. Katrina didn't reply, but Shark met her eyes in the mirror and nodded. Katrina leaned back and crossed her arms.

"I wouldn't have asked for help if they were only after me, but I was hired by Reid's team to investigate a couple of rogue assassins posing as serial killers, which would be them, yes," she explained, flicking her gaze to the agent, "I have to keep the whole team safe from them, and I fear I've... over-extended myself a little."

"Isn't the BAU HQ in Virginia somewhere though?" Momo asked, "Quantico or something, right? What are you doing in New York?"

"Working on a case; child rapist" Reid replied, briefly wondering if the location of the FBI was public knowledge.

Shark glared at Katrina: "You're lettin' them _work_? And on a case like that? What were you thinking?"

He winced at his tone and mumbled an apology hastily when the woman in question turned to him. Spencer couldn't see her face, but from Shark's reaction it must have been scary. Momo just rolled her eyes at the male assassin.

"I think it should be obvious that I didn't have much choice in the matter," Katrina replied defensively. Shark shot her a look that might have been worried. He opened his mouth, but glanced at the passengers in the back of the car and appeared to reconsider, shutting his mouth without commenting.

It was Momo who broke the thick silence this time, her tone brisk:

"Well? What is it you need us to do?"

Katrina looked relieved to be returning to business. Spencer thought she certainly _sounded _more comfortable now that she was no longer under obvious scrutiny, but from the frequent glances she sent his way, he gathered she wasn't happy to be doing this in front of him. He couldn't say he was grateful for the reminder that he was an outsider and met her gaze with a touch of irritation. She looked away.

"Shark, I need your head for strategy to deal with _them_. We'll meet later to discuss it. Momo," she paused to give the photographer a sly look, "you'll be working a different angle. There's a CIA operative, name of Fielding, Terry. He's liaising with Reid's team. I want everything on him. If he sneezes, I want to know who wipes his nose. I need his routine, his workplace, lovers, illegal activities... Find out what his ties are to Hansel and Gretel. The story they sold the FBI is that they went rogue after the CIA hired them," she and Momo shared a disbelieving glance, "I don't believe it for a second. The CIA may be a bunch of ignorant buffoons, but they're reasonably responsible employers, at least in this business. Also, Fielding either has something on me," she added with a fierce scowl, "or he thinks he does. I could find out myself, but I'd rather not show my hand so soon. If you can, sabotage his work. He's taking far too much interest in the BAU. I don't know if it's because I'm there now or if he has another agenda – I'm betting on the latter – but whatever he's doing needs to stop."

She nodded to Reid, who was looking bewildered:

"Doctor Reid, if you would be so kind as to insist on Fielding's suspicious interest when you report to Hotchner and Rossi," he nodded, recognising the order for what it was, "Good. Now then, Reid, you and I are going to get off in three blocks, and then we're going to go back to the hotel. _Not_," she held up a hand when he opened his mouth to protest, "the police station. Too predictable. Shark, Momo, I expect you two will be fine from here?"

They nodded, looking mildly offended that she even needed to ask.

As Spencer and Katrina were getting out, she paused: "Remember, Hansel and Gretel must not know you're involved. _Especially _you, Momo."

She didn't wait for a reply, but slammed the door and led Reid in the opposite direction.

_97 minutes later, Hotch's room_

"She asked for help?" Hotch's tone was incredulous. Spencer couldn't blame him; it seemed rather out of character for Katrina, but he supposed it should have been obvious that she would be unpredictable. Her behaviour hadn't quite been erratic, but it certainly didn't look stable.

Rossi was staring at him thoughtfully.

"You said she's suspicious of Fielding?" he asked, and Reid nodded.

He and Hotch glanced at each other, but their expressions remained indecipherable.

Hotch turned to Spencer abruptly:

"Good work Reid. We'll tell the team to be careful of him, and we'll need to see that Morgan stays safe."

Not knowing what sort of reaction he was expecting, Spencer merely grunted in acknowledgement and did a jerky half-nod. He winced inwardly at his awkward mannerisms, but did not dwell on his inadequacy; there was no point trying to change them by now. He noticed Rossi was glancing between him and the team leader expectantly, and looked up questioningly when Hotch cleared his throat.

"So, you've been spending a lot of time with Katrina, Reid," he began.

"Yes," Spencer replied slowly, suspiciously, and narrowed his eyes slightly, "Is that a problem?"

"No. I was wondering if you could tell me what you think of her. Your insight is bound to be more accurate since you spend the most time with her."

"What do you want to know?" Spencer knew the answer, but hoped he was wrong.

"Well, it's not often that we work with someone like her," Hotch said diplomatically, "It would be useful to know what motivates her, to start with," Hotch told him evenly. Reid swore inwardly.

"You want me to build a profile on her," he stated flatly. Rossi nodded, looking slightly sympathetic, but Hotch merely held his accusing gaze stonily.

"She's my friend, Hotch," he began hesitantly, desperately, "I know – I know it's not.. It's unusual, but we are...friends..." he trailed off in the face of Hotch's impassive disapproval, hating how small his voice had become.

Rossi interjected, sounding kinder but no more willing to let the matter slide:

"We know, and that's why we're asking you to tell us about her. You're in the best position to build a profile. You know we can't just blindly let her have her way – she's already taken the initiative without consulting or informing us more than once, and we need to consider the team's safety," he told him firmly.

"I know," Spencer replied sulkily, but defeated, "I need more time to build the profile, though. She's complicated."

Rossi held back a snort, because that had to be the understatement of the year.

They let him escape after Reid promised to get work on it as fast as he could, feeling guilty about putting so much pressure on the young agent, but knowing he could take it. Besides, neither of them doubted for a second that he'd been expecting this conversation for some time. He would be fine.


End file.
